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SHE STANDS ALONE 


“ When he was set down on the judgment seat , his wife sent 
unto him, saying, Have thou nothing to do with that just Man : 
for I have suffered many things this day in a dream because 
of Him r — Matt, xxvii. 19. 




EUPHROSYNE 






She Stands Hlonc 

T5he Story of Pilate’s Wife 
By MARK ASHTON 


»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»» 


Illustrated 



g»a»»fg»»fg$gg»»»»»»»g»»»g»gf»gfgggggg 


BOSTON j& & <& J& 
L. C. PAGE <& COMPANY 
j& j& j& j& j& 1901 







THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 
Two Copies Received 

J'Jl, 2 1901 

_ Copyright entry 

•.»<*©» 

CLASS tfc.XXe. N*. 

>x 

COPY B. 


PZ 3 


Copyright , 7907 
By L. C. Page & Company 

(incorporated) 


tJ// rights reserved 



DEDICA? iON 


— ♦ — 

To the Christian Churches who , whilst justly con- 
demning Pontius Pilate in their creeds , have forgotten 
the honour due to Pilate's wife in their calendars , 
this record of her life is inscribed by 

The Author. 


b 


















t 



JULIAN 










































































































I. EUPHROSYNE I 

II. THE UNCROWNED KING 7 

III. “WHAT SHALL I DO WITH HER?” . . 1 / 

IV. THE MAID OF ATHENS . . .28 

V. THE UNKNOWN GOD ..... 39 

VI. THE BOWL OF HEMLOCK .... 44 

VII. AURELIUS THE CENTURION .... 54 

VIII. THE HETiER^E 65 

IX. THE ACANTHUS CROWNS .... 78 

X. PONTIUS PILATE. . . . . *91 

XI. THE PALACE AT CAESAREA . . . . 105 

XII. A BROKEN PROMISE . . . . .121 

XIII. THE MAN OF SORROWS . . . . I31 

XIV. EUPHROSYNE’S DREAM . . . . I4O 

XV. “PONTIUS, WHAT HAST THOU DONE?” . I52 

XVI. DESERTION . . . . . . 1 65 

XVII. THE SACRED GIRDLE . . . . . 1 79 

XVIII. THE WIFI OF POTIPHAR . . . . 1 89 


X 


Contents 


CHAP. 

XIX. THE IRON CHAMBER 

• • 

m 

• 

PAGE 

200 

XX. THE BEGGAR OF ARLES . 

• 

• 

212 

XXI. NORCEA . 

• 

• 

• 

225 

XXII. THE PIRATES OF THE 

THAMES . 

• 

• 

239 

XXIII. UNDER THE HARVEST 

MOON 



249 

XXIV. li EUPHROSYNE OR JESUS?” 



255 

XXV. " CHRIST IS RISEN ” 

• • 

• 


268 

XXVI. THE REFUGE . 

• • 

• 


00 

N 

XXVII. NORCEA'S RETURN . 

• • 

• 


283 

XXVIII. THE WRITING OF DIVORCEMENT 

• 


292 

XXIX. GRANTED DESIRES . 

• 

• 


305 

XXX. THE LAST NIGHT AT THE REFUGE 

• 


318 

XXXI. “CjESAR, take back 

THY SWORD” 



327 

XXXII. RESTING IN PEACE . 

t • 


• 

337 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


Euphrosyne .... 

. 

. 

PAGE 

Frontispiece * 

A Gathering at the Home of 

Aspasia 


. 6s- 

Julian 




. 72 - 

Tiberius Cesar 




. 100 

Euphrosyne’s Dream . 




. 146^ 

Pontius Pilate 




N* 

00 

LO 

HH 

The Great Temple of Thebes 




• 174 : 

Norcea 




. 227 > 

Aurelius 




. 271 V 

Druid Ruins .... 




. 290 V 

Druid Priest .... 
Cutting the Sacred Mistletoe 




. 318 
. 328.. 




















+ 












4 






SHE STANDS ALONE 




CHAPTER I 


EUPHROSYNE 


YSANDER the Areopagite was crossing the 



J j peristyle, or great central hall, of his house at 

Athens, when a slave appeared at the entrance of 
the women’s apartments, and greeted him with the 
tidings, — 

“ The gods have granted thee a daughter, O 
master.” 

“ I thank the gods,” was the Athenian’s reverent 
acknowledgment. He had desired a son, but in 
this new-found joy of paternity the childless man of 
some fifty years disregarded the misadventure of sex. 

He filled a cup from a flagon of wine on a table 
close by, and poured it in libation before a colossal 
image of Zeus. Then he followed the messenger to 
his wife’s chamber. 

One greater than the Areopagite had entered before 
him. Its dread shadow filled the room, and fell upon 
the floor. Preoccupied by his gladness, he did not 
perceive the signs of this unseen presence. He did 
not note the alarmed anxiety of the midwife beside 


2 


Sbe Startbs Hlone 


the bed, the weeping terror of two attendants at the 
foot, and the hush of the group of women at the 
farther end who were gathered around the new-born 
infant ; nor were his fears aroused by the strange 
stillness of the child-bed martyr upon the couch. He 
took the cold hand lying on the coverlet between his 
own strong, warm palms, and murmured as he bent 
lovingly over her, — 

“ I shall love thee better than ever for this precious 
gift, beloved.” 

There was no answering pressure. The eyes re- 
mained closed, and the lips did not move. He 
thought she slept, and turned to look at the atom 
of humanity who titled him as father, when a cry 
from the bed arrested his steps. It was a hollow, 
despairing sound, that froze upon the ears that heard 
it. It was repeated, louder, sharper, the utterance ex- 
pressing an infinite yearning of love, regret, amaze — 
all merging in one sad tone of farewell. 

“ The child ! She would see the child ! Bring it 
quick ! Here ! ” cried the midwife. 

Ere it could be brought there was a shivering 
movement on the couch, a slight convulsion, a sigh — 
a breath strangled in the throat ere it reached the 
lips — then a dead silence. 

The mother’s life had paid forfeit for that of her 
child. The soul had rent its prison-house of clay, 
and had escaped. Whither? 

Lysander's eyes were opened now. No need to 
tell him all was over. He drew his pallium, or upper 
mantle, over his head — the Greek sign of mourning — 
and left the chamber of birth and death ; the wail of 
the women following him into the men’s division of 
the house. 


iBupbtospne 3 

The Areopagite had fondly loved his wife, and his 
grief was real. 

Nature, well pleased, also went her way ; for she 
had accomplished another of her never-ceasing tasks, 
producing with one hand and destroying with the 
other. 

Man and she are ever at war. He wrests her 
secrets, subdues her forces, utilizes her powers ; and 
then when he boasts that he has conquered, “ Death ” 
steps in and wins. 

The naming a child was an important religious 
rite with the ancient Greeks ; yet no priest, save as 
a guest, assisted at the ceremony. The worship of 
the gods was so interwoven with every act of the 
daily life of these Pagans, they needed neither teach- 
ing nor celebrants. Each man was priest in his own 
house, and performed himself, whether individually 
or collectively, his public as well as his private 
devotions. Thus the priests were the necessary 
servants of the temples — nothing more. 

When the day arrived for giving the Areopagite’s 
infant its name, the outside of the house was not 
only festooned with wool, the sign of a girl, but also 
with olive branches, the indication of a boy ; in 
token that the father considered his child to be both 
daughter and son to him. The statues of the gods 
were garlanded with flowers, incense was burnt 
before them, libations poured, and offerings laid 
at their feet ; musicians and singers invoked and 
sang their praises at intervals ; and the fire was 
prepared and lighted on the sacred hearth. 

The rich have many friends, and Lysander was 
rich, so the house was thronged with guests, who 


4 


Sbe Stanbs Hlone 


came to share the sumptuous supper prepared for 
the occasion, and afterwards to be witnesses of the 
ceremony. 

When the feast was over, the company assembled 
in the great hall, where the fire on the hearth was 
lighted, and around which a space was left free. The 
nurse entered with the infant in her arms, and carried 
her charge solemnly three times round the hearth, as 
a dedication to the gods of the family. She then 
approached the father, who stood a little in advance 
of the semicircle formed by his guests, and gave him 
his child to name. 

The Areopagite stretched forth his arms to embrace 
the infant, and then hesitated. By a curious over- 
sight, he had forgotten to choose a name for his 
daughter. Had it been a son many a name of hero 
or demi-god would have occurred to him in a 
moment ; but for a woman’s name he was at a loss. 
His perplexity was interrupted by the baby, who 
raised itself in the nurse’s arms and pealed forth a 
succession of infantine sounds, an unknown tongue 
to the majority of the guests. 

But mothers and nurses understand if they do 
not speak the language of infancy, and the woman 
in great alarm tried to still the child. 

“The darling must not laugh. No! No! No!” 
whispered the nurse soothingly. In her excitement, 
she possibly checked the child somewhat roughly, for 
it again raised itself as if in defiance, and repeated 
the tiny joy-notes with louder distinctness; and the 
nurse in an angry voice reproved it sharply for 
laughing, for so she again named its infantine 
babble. 

Now, by the unwritten laws of Athens, it was an 


iSupbrospne 


5 


insult little short of blasphemy to the gods to laugh 
when an Areopagite spoke ; and although the act 
was only the innocent audacity of a baby, the 
assemblage was somewhat scandalised. The awk- 
wardness was, however, happily averted by a popular 
poet present seizing his lyre, and improvising a 
graceful verse, in which he compared the music of 
the laugh to the melody sang by a flower, whose 
stalk was stirred by the wing of a zephyr, bearing 
a message from the sun-god. 

What name shall it be? Lysander was thinking 
during the poet’s diversion of the mishap. Irene, 
after her mother ? Theodora, the gift of the gods ? 
Aspasia, the queen of men’s hearts and heads ? He 
could not decide. 

When the song was finished, Lysander took the 
child tenderly in his arms, saying fondly as he did 
so, “ What shall I call thee, my daughter ? ” The 
reply was given almost before he had done speaking, 
by another peal of the strange elfin sound which 
the nurse had called laughter. 

“ A good omen, Areopagite ! ” cried an Epicurean, 
gracefully turning the mistake into flattery. “The 
gods are gifting thy child with beauty, health, and 
riches. How can she better acknowledge such good 
fortune than by laughter ? ” 

“ Thou speakest truth, friend,” replied the host, 
pleased with a remark that saved his own dignity 
and augured well for his child. “ A good omen as 
thou sayest, and three times repeated. I will accept 
its meaning, and will name my daughter Euphro- 
syne — the first of the graceful sisters, the offspring 
of Dionysius and Aphrodite. She shall likewise be 
the laughing goddess of mirth, good fortune, and joy ; 


6 


Sbc Stanbs Hlotte 


and as her life has begun in laughter, so shall it 
continue, and so shall it end.’* 

“ Nay, pause, Areopagite,” interposed Alcides the 
Cynic, a friend of Lysander, who never flattered him. 
“A name symbolising character and fortune should 
be given not in the cradle, but at the grave.” 

“ Away with thy cold words, Cynic,” returned the 
host. “ What should hinder this Euphrosyne laugh- 
ing through life, as she has begun it ? Are not all 
good things secured to her ? What can upset them ? ” 
“ Only two things, Areopagite : the unexpected and 
the unforeseen ; ” and shooting this Parthian arrow, 
Alcides disappeared amongst the company. 

The weapon hit its mark, and rankled afterwards 
in Lysander’s breast. All the same, he formally 
gave the name of Euphrosyne to the infant ; and then 
heading his guests, walked with it three times round 
the family altar, the hearth. Then the ceremony was 
concluded. 

Now it was a curious fact, that from her name- 
day until her death, Euphrosyne never laughed again. 
In after years, men called her smile divine ; but 
none were ever known to hear her laugh. 

It was whispered, when this rumour became public, 
that the gods were jealous of the father’s presumption 
in so certainly assuming a prosperous future for his 
daughter. Possibly some such misgiving troubled 
Lysander himself, for he spoke now and then of 
exercising the Greek father’s right of changing the 
name ; but time passed, and his daughter remained 
Euphrosyne. 


CHAPTER II 


THE UNCROWNED KING 

T HE handwriting on the wall had traced Ichabod 
upon the glories of Greece. Her wise men 
were dust, and no second Solon or Socrates had 
arisen from their ashes. Her sculptors, painters, and 
architects had left behind them works and monuments 
of beauty, the like of which the world will never 
see again ; but the mantle of their genius had not 
fallen as they departed. Moreover, where were the 
heroes of Thermopylae and Salamis ? Greece had 
become a Roman province. 

The height of the mountain measures the depth 
of the lake; and Greece having reached a summit 
of wisdom, art, and glory far above other nations, 
was now commencing her descent into an abyss 
equally below theirs. All upon this earth that hath 
life must flourish, decay, and die ; and for nations, 
as well as for individuals, there is no discharge in 
this war. 

But the decline was gradual, at first scarcely per- 
ceptible. The political astuteness of the Romans 
permitted their conquered nations to retain their 
own laws, customs, and religions ; and to Greece she 
was specially indulgent, adopting her gods, appre- 
ciating her art treasures, and sending her sons to 


8 Sbe Stanbs Hlonc 

Athens, to acquire the philosophy and culture of that 
polished capital. 

It is of Athens, the birthplace of the subject of this 
history, that I have now to write. 

The Athenians, so unlike and yet so like ourselves, 
owned neither monarchy, hierarchy, nor aristocracy. 
No royal family led society, no priesthood influenced 
it, no houses of lords and commons slept or wrangled 
over politics. There were no handles to names ; the 
slaves even addressed their masters by their one 
simple name, and the orators commenced their 
speeches — not with the sounding “ My lords and 
gentlemen ” — but with the plain phrase “ Men of 
Athens.” 

Notwithstanding these lacks, the Athens of two 
thousand years ago very much resembled the 
London of our own day. It had the same club life 
for the wealthy and the idle ; the same insatiable 
delight in hearing and telling some new thing ; the 
same gulf between rich and poor ; the like chatter 
about art, with just the difference that the Athenians 
knew what they were talking about ; the same canker 
of vice, only that it was paraded, if not gloried in 
with them, whereas — for the present — it wears a 
flimsily transparent veil amongst ourselves. 

There was likewise much outward observance of 
the forms of religion in Athens, as is the case in our 
own country; with this difference the Greek men 
without exception never neglected the attendance at 
the temples of their gods, while to-day the services 
of Christianity are attended almost exclusively by 
women. 

There was no king in Athens ; but as every 
community must have a nominal individual head, 


9 


Zbc 'CiBcrowneO ftfna 

whether the title be sovereign, president, consul, or 
governor, Athens elected to choose an uncrowned, 
unsceptred ruler, and the lot had fallen upon 
Lysander the Areopagite. 

He was neither an Alcibiades nor an Alexander ; 
for the day for very great men had passed away in 
Greece, and in the realm of the blind the one-eyed 
man is king. Not that Lysander was in any way 
inferior, far from it. He possessed good, if not 
great, abilities, vast wealth, and remarkable personal 
advantages ; the last weighing much with the Greeks, 
who were great admirers of masculine beauty. 

Lysander also had official prestige, being the first 
magistrate in the Areopagus. True, the absolute 
power of this body had been curtailed by Pericles, 
but it was still the ruling one. Moreover, the selected 
chief was courteous in manner, generous with his 
money, and an ungrudging patron of art. 

The Areopagite had been married many years, 
but to his deep disappointment his wife had brought 
him no children. He did not divorce this wife, as he 
easily could have done. “ The gods have cursed us 
with barrenness,” he said. “ Why should I add to my 
partner of the burden the punishment of disgrace ? ” 
When his wife died it much surprised his friends 
that for some years Lysander did not supply her 
place. 

It was during a short visit to the isle of Chios 
that for the first time in his nearly fifty years the 
one great love of woman had come to him — the love 
that stands out above all others, in every life of man 
for woman, and woman for man ; and is, like many 
complaints, so much less dangerous when taken early. 
Lysander took it late, and seriously. 


IO 


Sbe Stanbs Hlone 


He was lingering on the seashore one glorious 
evening, watching the white-winged boats dotting 
the sapphire sea, when his attention was attracted 
by a party of young maidens, who were racing with 
one another in a swimming match across the bay. 

Their light tunics leaving their limbs free, enabled 
them to lead an amphibious life, and after a long 
chase, during which the Athenian watched them with 
amused interest, they landed one after the other on 
the sands, the last of the group rising like another 
Aphrodite from the sea foam directly in front of him 

Lysander turned and looked at her, and thought 
that never before, in flesh or marble, had he beheld 
a face and form like hers. 

He did not lose sight of her. He traced her to the 
home of her fisherman father, and unobserved, as he 
supposed, followed and watched her everywhere. 
The Areopagite was not so blinded by her personal 
beauty and grace as not to keep his eyes open and 
his judgment cool enough to note her disposition and 
character. She was wild with the high spirits of 
youth and health, and her fleet flight up the mountain- 
side was almost as swift as that of the goats she 
followed ; and she would bound along the plain with 
the grace and bearing of an antelope of the wilder- 
ness. She was free and frank as air with the youths 
as well as with the maidens ; and Lysander, who was 
accustomed to see woman’s virtue guarded by lock 
and key, marvelled with astonishment to perceive 
that, with all this liberty, the highest purity of woman 
existed in the condition of a perfect freedom ; for he 
marked, despite her irrepressible gaiety, that not the 
rudest youth on the island dared address her save 
with a rough respect. 


II 


XTbc ‘Ctncrownefc ng 

He saw further that she was thoughtful for the 
old, tender to little children, and, what he even more 
admired, displayed at times a fearless courage in 
siding against injustice, and was ever striving to right 
the wrong. His mind was soon made up. This 
rare child of nature and purity should be his wife if 
she willed it so. 

The great man’s infatuation had not passed un- 
noticed, and the neighbours warned the fisherman. 

“ The ruler of Athens is after thy daughter, Cimon,’ 
they said ; “ and the hawk means no good when he 
swoops over the dove.” 

“ Ay, fisherman,” remarked another, “ the poor maid 
is ever considered the natural prey of the rich 
man.” 

In this instance it was not so. 

Scarcely had they done speaking when Lysander 
entered the fisher’s cot, and saluted all present, with 
an air rather of a suppliant than an abductor, as he 
thus addressed the master, — 

“ I am come for thy daughter, Cimon.” 

“She is not for sale, Athenian,” was the curt 
answer ; and as the father spoke, he drew a sharp 
knife from his belt, and held it downward, grasped 
tightly in his hand. 

“ Nor am I come to buy a slave or hire an 
hetaera,” replied the Areopagite. “ I am here to 
ask thy consent to make thy daughter Irene my 
wife.” 

“ Thy wife, Athenian ! They tell me thou art all 
but the king of thy city. My maiden is not fit to 
be mate with such as thou art.” 

“ She is fit to be the wife of Apollo, nay, queen of 
Zeus himself,” exclaimed the enamoured Lysander. 


12 


Si)e Stan&s Elone 


“Yet thy consent, O father, is not enough. I would 
take her of her own free will.” 

“ Irene, thou hearest,” said Cimon. “ Wilt thou go 
with this man who offers thee marriage ? ” 

Irene came forward, and for some moments looked 
straight and inquiringly at the Athenian, fearlessly 
meeting his eyes with her own. Then with a frank 
yet modest bearing, she offered him her hand, and 
said, turning to her father, “ I will go with him, for I 
see that he is good and true.” 

Before the week was over the wedding of Lysander 
and Irene had taken place. 

There followed a brief honeymoon of perfect happi- 
ness for the young bride. The Areopagite extended 
his holiday to another month, which was spent in 
sailing around the islands, wandering amongst the 
mountains, and making the acquaintance of Irene’s 
people. 

At last they could linger no longer. Lysander 
bore away his bride to Athens, and the dream of 
bliss was over. The uncrowned king at once took 
up his old life, and Irene awoke from her fool’s 
paradise, to find that the disappointing lot of the 
woman who loves the most had fallen upon her. 

“What has so changed him?” she moaned and 
questioned. “ He belongs to me no longer. He has 
ceased to love me.” 

She was altogether mistaken. Lysander had not 
changed, nor had he ceased to love her ; although 
it was true he no longer belonged to her. She forgot 
! that she had passed from the thing coveted to the 
thing possessed. His was the man’s love, “a thing 
apart.” Woe to the woman to whom, like Irene, 
it is her whole existence. 


i3 


XTbe Xftncrowneb fdrta 

The Areopagite’s busy life was filled to overflow- 
ing with affairs in which his wife had no part. The 
government of the city, the society of philosophers, 
and the professors of art occupied him ; and the hours 
not spent in the duties of his rule were passed in 
the temples of the gods, the Academy, the theatre, 
the lecture-halls, and in the excitement of the news 
of the day, so that very little time could be found 
or made for intercourse with the fair young captive, 
who pined, shut up in the women’s side of the house, 
with only slaves for her companions ; for she cared 
not for the company of the ladies of other families, 
who plainly showed that they had little in common 
with the island fisher’s daughter. 

It was no pleasure to go abroad. No unvicious 
woman, and certainly no woman so lovely as Irene, 
dared venture into the streets of this impure city, 
unless closely veiled and carefully attended. 

Her spirits failed, and then as a matter of course 
her health broke down. Her sweet temper grew 
irritable and fretful, and Lysander at last perceived 
the change. When he sought the reason, the long 
pent-up cause burst forth, and she reproached him 
for being tired of her. The interview began in storm 
ended in caresses, for Irene’s love for her husband 
was so strong, a very little manifestation of affection 
on his part consoled her. But when, time after time, 
these scenes were renewed, Lysander grew wearied 
of her complaints, and at times showed his impatience. 

Yet he was troubled as well as perplexed. He 
felt there was something wrong, and knew not how 
to remedy it. How could he satisfy her? He was 
ready to share his wealth with her as she already 
shared his love. Did not the gems, as well as the 


14 


S be Stanfcs Blotte 


gold of Ophir, fill her coffers? Were there not 
crowds of slaves to do her bidding. 

“ What ails thee, my bird of Olympus ? ” he inquired. 
“ How can I better adorn thy cage ? ” 

“ Does the bird beat itself less hardly against the 
bars of its cage because they are gilded ? ” she 
answered. “ Oh, husband, give me liberty ; I pine ! 
I pant for liberty ! The life shut up between these 
dreadful walls is death. Set me free. Open the 
doors of my prison-house, and let me go.” 

“ Hush, hush, beloved ! ” cried the distressed 
Lysander. “ I have but clipped the wings of my 
beautiful butterfly to save them from being soiled. 
The only safe place for thee, Irene, is in these 
women’s apartments. Men are evil where women 
are concerned ; and thou wouldst be in sorry case 
if unprotected in this defiled city. It was different 
in thine island, beloved of my heart.” 

“ Then send me back to my island,” she cried, in 
a tone of anguish. 

“ Ah, Irene,” he remonstrated, " thou accusest me 
of ceasing to love thee, and yet thou lovest thine 
island more than myself.” 

Then tears, embraces, and reconciliation followed, 
and a truce was called for awhile. 

By-and-by Irene became curious to know some- 
what of the life Lysander led apart from her, and 
questioned her slaves. She next proceeded to set 
them to bring her information. In consequence, she 
became jealous. 

“ Thou hast been to Hyla’s house, husband,” she 
said to him one evening, half pain, half anger, in 
her tone. 

“Yes,” he replied unconcernedly, “I was there 


i5 


Ube ‘dncrowneb Mm 

with half Athens, to hear and see a new drama per- 
formed. The author did not wish it should be 
given in public until Hyla’s excellent judgment had 
declared it successful.” 

“ Ah ! ” murmured Irene, in a low tone of envious 
expression. Then after a pause she called his name 
as a question. “ Lysander ? ” 

“ Yes, wife beloved ? ” he also questioned. 

“Let me also go to Hyla’s house, that I may 
learn to pass judgment on dramas, and meet thee 
there. The women of Hyla’s house are free, and 
I am dying for freedom.” 

“ No, Irene,” he said gravely. “ My wife cannot 
go to Hyla’s house.” 

“ But thou goest,” she remonstrated. 

He did not answer ; but after a few moments’ 
thought a light seemed to break in upon him. 

“ Art thou jealous, star of my soul? ” he remarked 
with a smile. “ Believe me, there is no cause. Hyla 
is to me no more than a comrade, like my brethren 
of the Areopagus, or the stewards of my estates. 
Her house is the centre of the philosophy and art 
of the city. Therefore I attend it.” 

“ Why should thy wife’s house not be that same 
centre ? ” she questioned. 

“ Because ” He stopped. 

“ Thou need’st not explain,” she said coldly. “ I 
know what the hetaerae and Hyla are. Thou say’st 
this is an evil city where women are concerned. My 
husband, it is worse. It is a cruel and unjust one, 
and its corruption must have come through the bars 
of my prison, for I envy the hetaerae their liberty.” 

Then she fell into a passionate fit of weeping ; and 
again Lysander felt that there must be something 


i6 


Sbe Stanbs Hlone 


rotten in the position of women, both the good and 
the bad, in this his highly civilised city of Athens. 

It happened fortunately for Irene that about this 
time an early companion of hers came to Athens from 
Chios. She had been left a young and poor widow 
with one infant, and Lysander’s wife gladly accepted 
her offer to become her freedwoman. Sappho was 
of a graver, firmer character than her mistress ; and 
the Areopagite, perceiving her worth and superiority 
installed her in a post of authority in the house- 
hold, and also appointed her the chief attendant upon 
his wife. This happy occurrence doubtless saved the 
reason, and for the time the life, of Irene. 

She grew composed, and comparatively happy, in 
the wise and sympathetic companionship of her friend, 
who had been in a higher station than herself, and 
had received, for a woman of those times, a superior 
education. Some six months after Sappho’s arrival 
Irene’s infant was born. The young mother’s fever 
fit of life was over, and the imprisoned wife regained 
the freedom for which she had so passionately 
yearned. 


CHAPTER III 


“ WHAT SHALL I DO WITH HER?" 

HE rich ancient Greeks delighted in country- 



X houses within easy reach of their cities, and in 
the whole neighbourhood of Athens there was not 
one to rival the retreat of Lysander, which well 
deserved its name of Arcadia. The walls and ceilings 
were frescoed with the finest paintings ; costly marbles 
tesselated the floors, and the private baths rivalled in 
luxury the public ones of Rome. The large domain 
surrounding it was laid out in stately avenued walks, 
shady groves and sparkling fountains, where statuary 
abounded, of equal merit with those few masterpieces 
now remaining to us, which are justly valued as 
the choicest treasures of the world. 

A thousand slaves attended to the house, gardens, 
and large vineyards and olive-yards attached to the 
estate. Lysander was the largest house owner in 
Athens, a profitable investment on account of the 
constant influx of strangers into the city ; but his 
chief wealth was derived from the purple dye vats 
of Tyre, in which he was a sleeping partner 
with his brother, who was a merchant prince in 
that city. 

The gardens were skilfully irrigated, and kept up 
with the perfect care of an English noble’s pleasaunce ; 


i8 


Sbe Stanbs Hlone 


but in one respect the two differed : there was no 
flower cultivation in Arcadia. 

As in wine-growing countries the people are the 
most temperate, so in flower-blossoming soils these 
lovely products are less estimated than where, under 
harsh skies, they require labour and money for their 
production. What is common is unvalued. Flowers 
enamelled the ground, and grew here, there, and 
everywhere in this lovely land ; and the Greeks only 
cared for them as coronets for their guests or garlands 
for their gods. In this indifference they resembled 
the Orientals ; for it is to be remarked in that stan- 
dard of Eastern life, the Bible, that — with the exception 
of two or three comparisons in Solomon’s Song, and 
the exquisite allusion of our Lord to the lilies — the 
flower of the field is only spoken of as an emblem 
of man’s short life and swift decay. Other lands, 
other customs. I have known an Italian lady turn 
faint in a room crowded with cut “ flower blossoms ” 
— the most cherished adornment of her English sisters’ 
homes. 

To this enchanting Arcadian home, Ly sander, on 
the death of his wife, brought his little daughter, 
placing her entirely under the care of the faithful 
Sappho, who, having lost her own infant about the 
time of her mistress’ death, had become Euphrosyne’s 
foster-mother ; and here, for some seven years, the 
child led a life of perfect liberty and happiness. 

The little flower-bud blossomed out of infancy 
into childhood, free as the air, as the wild creatures 
of the woods, or the tame ones of the pleasure- 
grounds ; for it was the Areopagite’s pleasure that 
every species of animal should be collected and cared 
for on his estate. She was never immured in the 


"TObat shall 5 bo wltb Ifoer?” 19 

women’s half of the house, although she was fed and 
sheltered there. She roamed where she would, did 
what she liked, the wise and devoted Sappho being 
ever at hand ; and the child grew daily in perfect 
health and marvellously increasing beauty. 

She was a strange little creature, thoughtful and 
grave beyond her years in some things, wild and 
wilful beyond the average in others. She never met, 
scarcely ever saw, another child, for no other girl 
would have been allowed the freedom of her habits ; 
and the rougher boy mates were out of the question. 
Nor were the children of the resident slaves permitted 
to enter the bounds ; so that, but for her exceeding 
natural beauty and grace, she would have been a 
quaint, stiff imitation of the older generation with 
whom she associated. Her positively equal com- 
panionship with the animal world around tended also 
to keep her young and simple. 

She was always propounding whys and wherefores 
in her little mind, especially pondering in childish 
wonderment why the slaves should work and she 
play — that problem which is not one whit being 
nearer solved this two thousand years after ; the 
terrible problem of inequality. 

When she asked Sappho this “ Why,” the reply 
was, “ They are men and women. Thou art a child.” 
“ Shall I work when I am a woman, Sappho ? ” 

“ No, for thou wilt be rich, and wilt be worked for.” 
“ But why should I be rich and they poor ? ” 
Sappho could only answer that it was so. 

To her father Euphrosyne was the apple of his 
eye, the core of his heart. He would leave the city 
and come over to Arcadia, if only he could spend 
an hour with his cherished darling. When he 


20 


Sbe Stanbs Blone 


arrived, his first thought was to call for his little 
daughter, when he left, his last act to embrace her 
with a loving farewell. 

One day a scene was enacted between them, which 
painfully touched Lysander, and awakened a great 
anxiety in his breast as to what he should do with 
the child he loved so well. 

There was a beautiful aviary in the gardens, as 
large and high as a church, with trees under the 
wiring, and fountains springing from the ground. 
It was a favourite resort of the father and child, and 
contained almost every known bird. 

“ I wish this was my very own,” she sighed. 

“ It is too big for my little Psyche.” (He often 
called her Psyche, and said some day, when Eros 
came for her, her wings would grow.) “But why 
dost thou wish for it?” 

“ That is a secret, father, I cannot tell thee.” 

“ If I give thee a smaller, prettier cage, with twenty 
of the choicest of these birds put into it, wilt thou 
tell me the secret?” 

“ I do not think I will tell, but I will show thee the 
secret then,” she promised. 

The order was immediately given, and a charming 
little aviary, whose gilded wires enclosed twenty 
birds, ten of brilliant plumage, ten of sweetest song, 
was soon completed. 

Euphrosyne had watched the making of this bird- 
home with intense interest, and had been present 
at the capturing of the birds from the big aviary. 
She ran to meet her father, who had come from 
Athens on purpose to present the gift, and joyfully 
drew him to see the pretty cage. 

“ Come ! come ! come ! father, and I will show 


"Wbat shall 5 bo witb iber?” 


21 


thee my secret ; but is it really my very, very own ? 
May I do whatever I like with it ? ” 

“ Whatever thou desirest, dear love, except to tease 
the birds. It is thy very own. Now, what is thy 
secret ? ” 

“ Ah ! I will never tease the birds ; and now, as 
soon as thou teachest me how to open the door, 
I will show thee my secret.” 

She kissed, caressed, and thanked her father, and 
then again asked him to open the door. 

“This is the trick, little one,” he said, showing 
it to her as he spoke ; “ but thou must be very careful, 
Euphrosyne, or the birds will escape, and fly away.” 

“ Oh ! never mind the birds. Let me try.” 

She did try ; and suddenly, before he could stop 
her, the child flung wide open the latticed door, and 
at the same instant every bird, with a rush of wings 
and a joyous note, had flown away, careering as high 
as they could go, under the deep blue sky. 

It was rarely the father was angry with his idol ; 
but in this instance he judged the child disobedient, 
even ungrateful, as well as careless, and he said in 
a displeased tone : “ This is not the way, daughter, 
in which my gifts should be received,” and he turned 
away. 

She ran after him, embraced his knees, and arrested 
his steps. “ Do not be wroth with thy little Psyche, 

0 my father ! ” she sobbed. “ Thou tellest me when 
Eros comes I shall have wings, and oh ! what should 

1 feel, if with wings I were shut up where I could not 
use them ! So I felt for the birds, and wanted them 
for my own, that I might set them free. Father ! 
oh, father ! ” she added passionately, “ even without 
wings I should die if thou wert to shut me up.” 


22 


Sbe Stanbs Hlone 


Lysander did not answer by a word. He sat 
down on a seat near, and taking the child on his 
knee, hid his face among the waving tresses of her 
bright chestnut-hued hair. Her words recalled the 
remembrance of what came of shutting up her mother. 

They recalled another scene also, which had hap- 
pened some weeks before the birth of her child. He 
had come unexpectedly upon his wife, crouching, 
rather than kneeling, before a statue of the Greek 
Ceres, the goddess of birth and fruitfulness. 

“ O Divinity,” she moaned, in tones that fell upon 
his heart like bolts of ice, “grant me this one 
petition of my soul before I die. Of thy pity, let 
not my coming child be a daughter. Let me not 
bring forth another being, doomed like myself to 
captivity, ignorance, and disappointed affection.” 

The husband stole away unperceived, bearing with 
him a wound which ever after smarted, and at times 
broke out afresh, as it was doing at this moment. 
Was his child to repeat the story of her mother ? 
Surely there was something corrupt in the state of 
Athens with regard to the woman half of its people. 

What should he do with this child, who was to 
him the very vein through which the life-blood of 
his love passed and circulated ? How should he order 
her young life, so that its barque should be steered 
safely between the sunken rocks of imprisonment and 
ignorance on the one side, and the seething whirlpools 
of impurity on the other ? For there lay no safe 
anchorage for women between these two upon the 
social chart of Greece. 

He stood in silent supplication for enlightenment 
before the gold and ivory image of Pallas, the guardian 
goddess of the city. But Pallas held her peace. 


“Wbat sball J bo wxtb Iber?” 


23 


The Greeks had reduced the subjection of women 
to a system combining the seclusion of the East with 
the street licence of the West. Their wives, sisters, 
and daughters were restricted to lives scarcely freer 
than those of the harem. They lived entirely apart 
from the men of the family, who rarely gave them 
their society. No freedom was permitted, no pleasure 
allowed ; and all culture was forbidden to these 
unhappy recluses. True, they were well sheltered, 
fed, and clothed ; but so also were the slaves and 
animals, the other property of their owners. How- 
ever, they were accorded the privilege — or the 
penalty — of bearing children for their lords. 

This was the civilised heathen’s reward of virtue ! 

Now for the reverse of the medal. 

Having thus consigned the virtuous half of woman- 
hood to seclusion, securing her chastity under bar 
and lock, and drawing the bolts of ignorance behind 
her, their masters turned to seek in the other half 
a companionship better suited to match themselves 
than the crushed beings to whom was confided their 
honour and the motherhood of their families ; and 
so the socialistic commune of women entitled the 
Hetaerae was established. 

The refined and intellectual Greeks would not 
tolerate the coarse comradeship of vice, drawn from 
the dregs of the population, that suffices less fas- 
tidious nations ; so whilst granting the hetaerae equal 
licence of life and manners with themselves, they 
not only allowed, but required from them, an equal 
cultivation of art, literature, and polished manners. 
Their houses were the rendez-vous where artists, 
philosophers, and poets assembled, and received 
their verdicts of success or failure. The leaders of 


24 5be Stanfc5 Hlone 

this commune amassed fortunes, and paraded their 
shame. 

Such was the premium on vice of the philosophic 
pagans. 

Well might the noble Lysander ponder in sad per- 
plexity over this melancholy sex problem, which 
touched so closely the destiny of his loved daughter. 
Well might he cry in bitter doubt, “ What shall I do 
with her ? How shall I order this child the gods 
have sent me, bearing as she does with her the deep 
love of my own soul and the curse of her sex ? ” 

Soon after the episode of the aviary an acci- 
dent occurred which hastened the decision of her 
father as to the course to be taken with the little 
Euphrosyne. 

The ancient Greeks were not cruel and bloodthirsty 
like the Romans. The games of their theatres were 
not the fights of men and wild beasts as in the 
Roman arenas, but athletic and intellectual contests. 
The execution of their criminals was by the merciful 
draught of hemlock, not by the torturing cross ; and 
corporal chastisement was rarely inflicted upon the 
slaves. Of course among so many of the latter in 
Arcadia punishment was at times necessary, and one 
day an insubordinate slave was tied to a stake by 
order of an overseer, for refusing to work, and con- 
demned to remain there until he consented to 
resume it. 

Euphrosyne came upon this man in her wanderings, 
and at once saw that he was suffering cruelly from 
thirst ; and going up to a gang of slaves at work, 
not far off, she ordered one of them, in the pretty, 
imperious tone of a rich man’s spoilt child, to carry 
a cup of water to the man. 


u m \) at shall $ ho with llxr?” 


25 


But important as the little maiden was, the over- 
seer was far more so, in the estimation of these 
others, and not one moved. 

“ Dost thou hear me ? ” she cried impatiently. 
“ Draw water for that poor man. Dost thou not see 
that his tongue hangs out of his mouth dried by 
the sun, like my dogs suffer when tired and heated ? 
Give him drink ! ” stamping her foot as she spoke. 

“We dare not, daughter of Ly sander.” 

“ Then I will stay under the sun,” she cried, “ until 
ye do, and what will my father say then ? ” She 
flew to another post near the bound man, loosened a 
scarf around her waist, and tied herself to it, at the 
same time throwing off a cap from her head. 

Even Sappho could not prevail upon her to come 
away. Fortunately her father was not far off. 
Indulgent as he was, Euphrosyne saw there was to 
be no trifling now, and suffered herself to be removed. 

“ They would not give him water when I ordered,” 
sobbed the somewhat subdued child. 

Lysander inquired into the offence. “ Give him 
water, as my daughter petitions for him,” he said 
quietly to a slave close by. 

“ And cut his bonds, father ! ” she cried. 

“ No, Euphrosyne. He has done wrong, and must 
suffer for it. Come away with me. He remains 
there until he consent to work.” 

“Then thou art cruel, and I will not love thee, 
father,” pouted the passionate, wilful little creature. 

“This child has run wild too long, Sappho,” re- 
marked the Areopagite, turning to the foster-mother. 
“ She must be disciplined.” 

“ Yes, Areopagite,” returned Sappho. “ She must 
be trained, and without more loss of time.” Her 


26 


Sbe Stanbs Blone 


love for the darling of her heart did not blind this 
wise woman to her faults, or cause her to oppose 
the remedy. 

It was on an evening soon after this escapade, 
more delightful than evenings generally are, even 
in this delicious clime, that Lysander and his friend, 
Alcides the Cynic, were strolling through the orange 
and citron orchards of Arcadia. Suddenly the little 
Euphrosyne darted out before them, leading a tame 
fawn by a long cord, the two gambolling together 
in an exquisite accord of graceful agile movements. 

Both men stopped, and gazed with astonished 
admiration at the vision of childish loveliness before 
them. A more perfect model of youthful beauty 
never gladdened the eyes of a Greek father. 

“ Areopagite,” observed the Cynic gravely, “ it 
is time you restricted this peerless little maiden to 
the women’s apartments. This wild life of freedom 
is no kind preparation for that of a Greek wife and 
mother.” 

“ I will never restrict her to the women’s apart- 
ments, Alcides, replied his friend, still more gravely. 

“ Indeed ! ” was the surprised response. “ Is the 
daughter of Lysander, then, to become a second 
Aspasia, the uncrowned queen of the hetaerae, as thou 
art the uncrowned king of Athens ? ” 

“ The gods forbid ! ” exclaimed Lysander, in a voice 
of deep emotion. 

“ There is no middle course possible for a woman, 
Areopagite.” 

“ Alcides,” said Lysander, after a few moments’ 
pause, “ I neither intend to bring up my daughter 
as a prisoner of the home nor as a member of those 
outrages of nature, the hetaerae.” 


"TKUbat shall 5 bo with Iber?” 


27 


“ Is she to be educated for Olympus or Zaides ? ” 
inquired the Cynic jestingly. “There certainly will 
be no place for her on earth.” 

“ I mean to throw over the barrier of sex,” explained 
Lysander, “and give my child exactly the same 
education and advantages as I should have appointed 
for my son.” 

The Cynic looked at his friend as if he thought he 
had lost his senses, and then inquired drily, “ And 
when thy scheme is carried through, and the training 
over, what then, Areopagite ? ” 

“ What then ? ” repeated Lysander with a start. 
“Well,” he added, after a pause, “after having done 
my part, I shall leave the result to the gods.” 

“ Quite right not to leave it to men,” observed 
Alcides with a laugh. “ I wish thee well through thy 
fight with nature, and, what is worse, with custom. 
Thou canst not, with all thy training, change that 
little beauty into a man, any more than thou canst 
make thy foot work or thy hand walk.” 

“ At least I shall try to prevent the hand binding 
the foot into powerlessness,” retorted Lysander, 
“ which is the suicidal action of man towards women.” 

“ Catch the sunbeam and stay the whirlwind, 
Areopagite,” returned the Cynic, “and then thou 
mayst hope to emancipate women.” 


CHAPTER IV 


THE MAID OF ATHENS 
HE brief holiday of the first seven years of 



X Euphrosyne’s life was over. She had been 
as free as the birds, happy as the butterflies, merry 
as the squirrels and grasshoppers of the beloved 
Arcadia ; and now she was going to leave it for 
the great, grand, dull mansion in Athens. 

Lysander at once commenced his preparations for 
the education of his daughter. A considerable extent 
of ground was cleared close to his house, and upon 
this was erected a gymnasium, theatre, lecture and 
schoolrooms, on the best approved designs ; and the 
most eminent professors were engaged to conduct 
the course of studies for the scholars. 

The Areopagite then offered free instruction to 
all boys born in the same year as his own daughter. 
The only title to admission was the perfect health 
of the applicant, and the rules, though few and simple, 
were rigidly enforced. There was no restriction as 
to class or means, no inquiry as to character. Every 
scholar was to pass daily through the baths attached 
to the house before entering the class-rooms, and 
to wear a peculiar tunic, which, if too poor to 
procure, was provided for him. At the first outbreak 
of rebellion or rude manners, the offender was 


XTbe /iDatt) of Btbens 


29 


admonished, at the second dismissed. Failure in 
attendance, without permitted cause, finally excluded 
the absentee. 

Little Euphrosyne wore the same tunic as the 
others. Her distinguishing mark was the rich 
rippling hair that clustered over her small, finely 
formed head. 

Sappho was invariably in attendance. Her pre- 
sence was in itself a guarantee of order and good 
conduct. 

The hubbub which this institution caused in 
Athens was overwhelming. Disapproval, ridicule, 
and abuse clamoured behind the Areopagite’s back, 
and turned the gossip-loving city upside down. A 
century before he would certainly have been deprived 
of his authority, and probably ostracised ; but times 
were changed now. The iron hand in the velvet 
glove that now clasped Greece would have crushed 
the first symptoms of revolt, or even disturbance ; and, 
after all, where could they find another man (with 
all his absurd whims) so suitable as Lysander to fill 
the important position he held? 

So the Athenians contented themselves with words 
of contemptuous condemnation ; and, with this vent 
to their indignation, the storm blew over. 

Lysander had neither battled with nor bent before 
it. He went quietly on in his own way, as was his 
wont, and as usual carried his point. In only one thing 
did he consult public opinion. He admitted no other 
woman child to his academy, notwithstanding the 
piteous petition of his indulged daughter “ that there 
should be some other little maids besides herself, 
among all those boys.” 

“ No,” he answered, wearied at last of her 


30 


Sfoe Stanbs Hlone 


persistence. “ My Euphrosyne must be the only 
‘ Maid of Athens * here.” 

This speech was repeated, the name found favour 
with the Athenians, and from henceforth, until the 
day she left her native city, she was only known as 
the “ Maid of Athens.” 

By-and-by the usual reaction of violent opinions 
set in. It was found out that the education and 
training was so perfect at the Areopagite’s academy, 
that the wealthy upper crust of Athenian society 
prayed admission for their children. Lysander con- 
sented on the condition that heavy fees should be 
paid by those who could afford them, which sums 
should be given for the service of the temples and 
the gods. It soon became as good as a certificate 
of progress to belong to the school of Lysander. 

To the father’s great gratification, the Maid of 
Athens held her own excellently against her mascu- 
line rivals. It was not altogether flattery when the 
preceptors told him the gods had made a mistake, 
in putting the brains of a man into the lovely head 
of this young maid ; and it was certainly not by 
favour she carried off the prizes, both athletic and 
intellectual. Euphrosyne’s abilities were already far 
beyond the average, not in that clever precocity, 
which goes off as years advance, but in the broad and 
steady capacity, which promises an abundant fruitage. 

Partly from temperament, but far more from 
circumstances, she was a grave and thoughtful child, 
and little given to the frivolities in which her sex 
is, unfortunately, so universally reared. Except slaves 
and her foster-mother, the companions of her child- 
hood and youth were entirely of the other sex, and, 
thus shut out from her own, it was fortunate that 


XTbe /IDafo of Btbens 


31 


her incomparable beauty and grace, and the posses- 
sion of a warm and noble heart, counteracted the 
hardness of manner and disposition such deprivation 
might otherwise have produced. 

One great disappointment awaited Lysander. Him- 
self an enthusiast for art in every branch, he was 
at last unwillingly convinced that the Maid of Athens 
would never excel in painting and music. 

“ Father,” she said one day, as she laid before 
him some models in clay a sculptor had helped her 
to mould, and some sketches her master the painter 
had overtouched, “ is it not a waste of time to teach 
me ? I can only imitate. I shall never create ! ” 

“ Thou lackest perseverance, maid,” he replied. 
“There is promise here.” 

“ Whatever promise there may be, it will never 
be worthily fulfilled,” she answered. “ I know enough 
to see how poor is the promise. Even supposing 
form, colour, design, and cunning of hand, had been 
born with me, I must still give the toil of years, 
the labour of a lifetime, to produce anything of worth. 
My masters tell me so.” 

“ But if thou learnest and practisest, it will teach 
thee to judge correctly the merits of great works,” 
remonstrated her father. 

“ I am Greek,” she responded, “ and by nature 
and intuition judge correctly enough. No practice 
could produce by me anything above mediocrity. 
Let me give my time to that in which I can excel, 
father.” And after a little more argument, she got 
her way. 

So with music. “ I have no song-bird in my 
throat, father,” she said ; “ no melody in the tips of 
my fingers. I have sufficient ear to be tortured by 


32 


Sbe Stanbs Hlone 


my own attempts. The lute wearies me. Let it 
be set aside.” And as usual, her father consented 
to her desire. 

Is there a grown person who reads these pages 
who has not been unable to answer the simple 
“ Whys ” of children ? The wise men of Greece 
were often puzzled by the questions arising from 
the groping, original thoughts of the Maid of Athens. 

There was a debating assemblage at stated in- 
tervals in Lysander’s school, and the youths were 
invited to ask any questions of the circle of philo- 
sophers who sat around, and afterwards to discuss 
the subject started. 

On one occasion the Maid of Athens sat upon 
the questioning chair, and demanded, — 

“ From whence first came man, O masters ? ” 

“It is said from the gods, Maid of Athens.” 

“‘It is said’ is not proof, O master! Can any 
present prove this divine origin ? ” she added. 

There was no answer to this challenge. 

“ If men sprang from the gods,” continued the 
maid, after a short silence, “ then are the gods but 
monster men, and men their children but puny gods ; 
inasmuch as they have become the feebler folk, and 
a degenerate stock.” 

“ Thou speakest well, maid ! ” observed a Sophist. 
“ Man’s source from the gods can be but fable. 
Were it so, religion would be vain ; for men would 
be the rivals, not the subjects of the divinities.” 

“ I agree,” interposed a philosopher, “ with the 
physicians, who have studied the structure of man- 
kind and animals, and believe that man was gradually 
evolved from the beasts, who existed before him.” 

“No need to ask proof of the last sage’s opinion, 


Ube /IDatb of Htbens 


33 


maid,” remarked Alcides the Cynic. “The theory 
carries the conviction of fact within itself, as the 
nut encloses the kernel. The common herd of men 
are but improved apes ; those with stronger animal 
appetites resemble their progenitors the swine ; 
whilst the few brave and noble ones claim paternity 
from lions. Art thou satisfied, maid ? ” 

“ Satisfied ! Alcides,” she answered in the same tone 
of grave banter — “satisfied! that men are monster 
beasts, as the first sage suggested, that the gods 
were monster men. No, I am not satisfied. But, 
O master turning to the philosopher who had last 
spoken — “ wilt thou, I pray thee, at least give us 
a clearer statement of the origin of woman ? ” 

“ Woman,” he repeated. “ I have never thought 
of her origin ; I never heard she ever had any.” 

“Yet here she exists, and she must have come 
from somewhere, O master,” said the maid. 

“ Perhaps she is only a spoilt man,” suggested 
Alcides. 

The Maid cf Athens shook her head. 

“ Let us suppose,” continued Alcides, “just for the 
sake of argument — for it is hard the maid should 
leave that chair unsatisfied — that man has really 
improved himself upon the monkeys, hogs, and lions, 
who themselves, by the way, have remained stationary, 
and that as a parallel, women have crept forth 
from lambs, spaniels, and — let us say, serpents.” 

“ Ah, Alcides, thou art as ever severe,” returned the 
maid. “ Women crushed into the meekest and silliest 
of animals, the sheep ; the loving amongst them 
fawning on the foot that spurns her, like the spaniel, 
and the few remaining endowed at least with the 
wisdom of ” 


3 


34 


Sbe Stanbs Blone 


Here Alcides interposed : “ And the venom some- 
times also of the serpent, maid.” 

The Maid of Athens shook her head again at her 
father’s friend, half angry, half amused. Then she 
rose from the chair, and said : “ If I am not satisfied, 

I am at least silenced, O masters.” 

Between Lysander and his daughter there was not 
only deep love, but perfect companionship. They 
were both so gifted and highly cultured, so just and 
kind of heart, that a strong sympathy drew them 
closer together than even the ties of nature and 
intelligence. 

They had many opinions in common. Lysander 
especially agreed largely with his daughter’s indigna- 
tion at the servitude of woman ; but she could never 
bring her father over to her side on the subject of 
slavery. 

“ Why, father, should one man belong to another 
no better than himself? It is unjust.” 

“It is the necessity of humanity,” was Lysander’s 
answer. “ The world could not go on without service, 
and there would be no hewers of wood and drawers 
of water, unless compelled. Of what use would my 
riches be to me, if I had to dig my own land, fill my 
own baths, prepare my own food, and weave my own 
clothes ? Some one must work.” 

“Yes,” said the maid, “someone must work ; but 
why not the master in turn for the slave, and the slave 
in turn for the master ? That would be just.” 

“That would end in no work at all, dreamer,” 
replied her father. “ By skill or inheritance some 
possess wealth, others by reason of dulness or 
accident of birth have none ; therefore, upon the 
latter the yoke of labour naturally falls.” 


Ubc /Ifoato of Htbens 


35 


“ I cannot answer thee with my head, O father, but 
my heart tells me it is not fair. There must be a 
mistake somewhere.” 

“ There is a mistake everywhere, and in everything 
under the sun, Maid of Athens,” observed Alcides, 
who had been listening to the dispute ; “ and this 
fact thou wilt find out more and more every day 
thou livest.” 

As the Maid of Athens grew into womanhood, she 
began to doubt more, and to believe less, in the gods 
of Greece. Yet with the inconsistency of a crude and 
as yet unformed mind, she reproached them with the 
misgovernment of the world, and laid the crimes and 
selfishness of mankind upon the court of Olympus. 

Lysander once witnessed an act of the Maid of 
Athens which greatly troubled him. 

He was entering the peristyle of his house, when 
he saw his daughter standing before the same image 
of Zeus to whom he had poured a libation of gratitude 
on the occasion of her birth. She was passionately 
addressing the great father of gods and men. 

He was surprised at her excitement. The violent 
fits of temper and self-will of her earliest years had 
gradually left her. She was intensely proud, and 
quite aware that uncontrolled exhibitions of feeling 
lowered her in the eyes of others and destroyed her 
own self-respect. Still, now and then, the old enemy 
rose up within her under any strong emotion, and 
conquered her, as it was doing now. 

“ Zeus,” she cried, “ if thou art indeed the supreme 
ruler of gods and men, why dost thou suffer all the 
wrong and pain that goes on amongst us ? Art thou 
dumb? Art thou deaf? Art thou blind? that thou 
speakest not to reprove, that thou hearest not earth’s 


36 


Sbe Stanbs Hlone 


cry of anguish, that thou seest not its distress. 
Answer me, thou stony symbol of the chief deity.” 

She paused. There was no sound, no movement. 

“ Give me a sign,” she went on. “ Lift thy finger, 
thy smallest finger, and I will bow before thee.” 

She looked up intently ; a slight panting of breath 
alone showed her suppressed excitement. Nothing 
stirred, save the falling water of the fountain in the 
marble pool and the distant crush of the echoing 
footfalls of the slaves. There was no more speech 
or motion in the magnificently formed statue of 
the god than when its marble lay unhewn in the 
virgin quarry. 

“ Thou art no god,” cried the Maid of Athens con- 
temptuously. She picked up a small whip from the 
ground, used by the slaves when chastising diso- 
bedient dogs. There was a step-ladder close to the 
idol, kept for decorating it with flowers. The maid 
mounted this, and struck sharply two or three strokes 
across the face of the image. 

“ Hold ! my daughter,” cried her horrified father. 
“ Blaspheme not the gods, lest thou provoke them 
past remedy. Great Zeus,” he added, turning to the 
statue, “ I pray thee pardon this error of my child. 
She hath offended through youth and ignorance.” 

“ Do not distress thyself, father,” said Euphrosyne 
calmly ; “ Zeus will not hurt me. He has, methinks, 
mislaid his thunderbolts.” 

“ Hush, Euphrosyne ! I would not for all that I 
possess have lived to see and hear thee thus insult 
the great father of gods and men.” 

“ Thou art not wroth with me, beloved father,” she 
cried, regarding him with one of those enchanting 
smiles that never failed to subdue Lysander, and 


ftbe /IDaiCi of Htbena 

throwing her arms around his neck. “ Thou art not 
angered.” 

The Areopagite fondly returned the embrace, and 
caressed the beautiful hair knotted in classic fashion 
that rested on his breast. “ Angry with thee, my 
child ? No, that I cannot be : yet I have fear and 
sorrow for the words that thou hast spoken.” 

“ Hast thou never doubted, father ? ” whispered the 
Maid of Athens. “ Hast thou always believed in the 
gods which our sculptors have embodied for our 
worship ? ” 

“ No, my daughter. I, like thee, have often doubted, 
I, like thee, have sometimes disbelieved. Wherefore, 
then, should I blame or be surprised at thee ? But 
years have brought wisdom, and I have outgrown 
Jpoth moods, and have learnt that it is better to] 
believe in error than not to believe at all. Marf 
without any religion is a moral and spiritual her- 
maphrodite ; without some faith he withers as he 
lives.” 

“ But why should man continue in error ? ” argued 
the Maid of Athens. " Can he not search for truth, 
until he finds it ? ” 

“Truth! truth! Where and what is truth ? ” sighed 
Lysander. “ One says it is here, another declares 
it is there ; some men assert they find it on this 
side, other men aver it lies upon the other. It is 
not truth it is so difficult to find ; it is the guides 
to it that so mislead us. The gods have not deigned 
to reveal truth to man, my child.” 

“ I will believe in no god who does not reveal 
truth to me, O my father.” 

“ Then seek it from the Unknown God,” answered 
her father jestingly. 


38 Sbe Stanbs Blone 

“Who is He? and where shall I find Him, oh, 
father ? ” 

“ Hast thou not seen His altar, crowded out by 
our fanes and temples, on the high road to the 
Piraeus, maid ? A plain square altar, with few 
worshippers and no offerings or oblations. Perhaps 
in His pleasure in at last gaining a suppliant He 
may reveal to thee the truth thou seekest.” 

“ I will seek Him out and ask Him, O my father,” 
said Euphrosyne. 


CHAPTER V 


THE UNKNOWN GOD 

I T was not yet dawn, although a light in the eastern 
sky betokened its approach. A profound still- 
ness lay upon the sleeping earth, and the only sign 
of life astir was the figures of two shrouded and 
veiled women, who stood motionless before a stone 
altar, just outside the city of Athens, a little away 
from the high road leading to its port. 

They did not appear to be worshippers ; and in 
truth, there seemed nothing to worship in this rude 
piece of tasteless masonry, with the enigmatical 
inscription on its front — “ To the Unknown God.” 
They were not bowing, kneeling, or prostrating, and 
a temple of Hermes close by, and a statue of Diony- 
sius, the god of wine, a little beyond, would have 
better suited outward adoration than this heavy 
square block, supported by four plain Doric pillars. 

These two women had brought neither garlands 
nor offerings. They stood silently as if watching. At 
last a voice, clear and sweet as a silver bell, spoke. 

“O great Unknown,” it cried, “ without image, 
without symbol, without name ! The gods of my 
people have failed me, and my soul craves for the 
truth. If Thou be indeed a god, reveal it now 
to me.” 


39 


4o 


Sbe Stanbs Hlone 


The Maid of Athens looked upward, but the heavens 
gave no answering sign. She looked around, there 
was no new or visible presence. She looked down- 
wards, there was neither speech nor language. 
Euphrosyne therefore resumed her first attitude of 
watching and waiting. 

Long lines of dazzling orange and purple streamed 
along the eastern horizon, the royal outriders of the 
approach of the sun-king. 

Nature, earth’s stern stepmother, now arose, and 
awoke the slumbering world. The leaves on the trees 
thrilled with a rustling, as though stirred by a breeze. 
The birds fluttered on bough and in nest, and feebly 
tuned their throats. The flowers unclosed their 
folded blossoms to greet the light, and from the 
ground arose the hum and stir of insect life. 

But this was all ! No celestial answer came ; and 
again the Maid of Athens pleaded. 

“ O God unknown ! If Thou art too vast for 
material form, too mighty to condescend to the 
clay of humanity, yet speak, I pray Thee, to my 
soul ; so that I may know that I have found the 
truth.” 

Louder, fuller, came the echoes of the awakening 
earth — but nothing else. 

“To my soul! to my soul!” she cried for the 
third time. Then a great awe fell upon the maid, 
and she felt as if a mighty unseen presence sur- 
rounded her; and afterwards a peace, of which she 
had never before even dreamed, brooded over her, as 
a bird might brood over its young. 

She remained wrapped in this for some time, and at 
last Sappho gently touched her arm. 

“ He hath not answered thee, my child,” she 


XTbe mnfenown Gob 


41 


whispered. “ I fear me He is no better than the 
gods thou hast rejected.” 

“ No, Sappho,” replied Euphrosyne, “ He hath 
not answered, it is true ; but He hath done better, 
for He hath heard .” 

Oh, you — and you are many — who faint under the 
discouragement of what, in your blindness and im- 
patience, you call unanswered prayer, take courage 
and comfort from these words of the Maid of Athens ; 
for be sure of this : it matters little whether prayer be 
answered, if only it be but heard. 

Yet who knows the manner in which prayer is 
answered? Who can say but that the honour of 
pleading for Jesus of Nazareth, which will be the 
glory of Euphrosyne throughout eternity, was not 
bestowed in answer to her earnest supplication at 
the altar of “the Unknown God”? 

The Maid of Athens had now completed her 
eighteenth year— the age of an immature woman in 
colder climes, and of a less forced and broad training ; 
but a decade in advance of her date under the soft 
skies, and with the high culture she possessed ; while 
at the same time she retained the charm and freshness 
of youth. 

Every year had added to her incomparable beauty, 
which was of the purest Greek type, with the low, 
broad forehead, from which the nose sprang straight 
and perfectly formed, abundant waving hair of the 
shade of the ripe chestnut husk, and a skin like the 
finest ivory, upon which emotion brought up a glow, 
rather than a colour, that gave a delightful expression 
of intensity to her face. But it was the eyes and 
mouth that formed the chief attraction of her features. 


42 


Sbe Stance Hlone 


The dark eyes, large, lustrous, and well-set, beamed with 
a depth of genius so enthralling, that those who met 
her glance never forgot it ; while the exquisite smile of 
her beautiful lips when she was pleased, or desired to 
please, could change when displeased, to a withering 
scorn which few cared to risk. 

Her form was equally perfect, and the dignity of 
her repose and grace of her movements were adorable ; 
while her hands and feet, especially the latter, were 
the despair of the sculptors. The modern torments 
of boots, shoes, and stockings, were unknown in 
ancient Greece, and the liberty accorded the Maid 
of Athens necessitating the concealment of her face 
in a half-mask, and her figure in a large woman’s 
pallium, when abroad, left her slightly sandalled feet 
and beautiful ankles the only marks of recognition. 

“ The daughters of the gods ” are — so the poet says 
— “ divinely tall ” ; but amongst the daughters of men 
grace and beauty are generally denied to the female 
grenadier, and the stature of the Maid of Athens 
fell short of the gigantic altitude required by the 
heroines of modern fiction. The lawgivers of the 
standard of Greek physique declared the height of 
the Maid of Athens to be the just one, and would 
not have added a unit or subtracted an inch. 

The old men who saw her unmasked wondered 
if Helen of Troy could have been as fair as she. The 
young men declared, that if the Maid of Athens had 
made a fourth in the judgment of Paris, Aphrodite 
might have lost her award. 

Athens was proud of her Maid, as she was proud 
of her matchless Acropolis of temples ; of her paint- 
ings and sculptures ; of her wisdom and philosophy. 
No one disputed the fact that she was the most 


Ube TUnftnown (Bob 


43 


beautiful woman in the world ; and it was considered 
a miracle from the gods that her brain power equalled 
her personal gifts. 

She possessed a power beyond even beauty and 
mental gifts, — the strong magnetic force which was 
the secret of the sway of the historic women of the 
world, with which Cleopatra beckoned Antony after 
her at Actium, and which, as with a loadstone, drew 
men’s willing heads to the scaffold for the sake of 
Mary of Scotland, and enabled Czar Peter’s peasant 
wife to tame her northern bear and wrest and subject 
barbarous Russia to her sway after his death — the 
most irresistible and the most dangerous of all 
influences. 


CHAPTER VI 
THE BOWL OF HEMLOCK 
OMEN were not permitted to act in the plays 



VV of ancient Greece, and the Athenians, who 
granted all licence to the shameless hetaerae, would 
have felt outraged at the very idea. Vice has its 
prudery as well as virtue, and Mr. Grundy was as 
potent an influence in Athens as his troublesome, 
yet after all, useful wife, is with ourselves. 

Youths represented the female characters, and as 
a youth Euphrosyne had taken her part in the 
dramas ; and it was soon discovered by her masters 
that her especial ability lay in dramatic and oratorical 
genius ; and the power, passion, and nature she threw 
into the private performances acted before them ex- 
cited both their astonishment and despair. 

“ What can the gods have been about, Areopagite,” 
they exclaimed as before, “ first in making thy child 
a daughter, and then endowing her with the power 
and intellect of a son ? ” 

“ Mental gifts to a woman are as worthless and 
wasted as water poured upon the desert sands,” 
observed another philosopher. 

“ If the maid were only a man,” said a third, 
'* Demosthenes might find his laurel crown withered, 
and were she a youth, Aristophanes and Sophocles 


44 


TTbe Bowl ot Ibemlocfc 


45 


would add more bay leaves to theirs, through her 
interpretation of their works.” 

“ Do not rail against the gods, my friends,” inter- 
posed Ly sander, “or question their decrees. We are 
not fit judges of their designs and hidden meanings. 
If my child has a man’s brains as well as a woman’s 
beauty, let both gifts be developed to their utmost.” 

The masters obeyed, and, as time went on, Lysander 
had dramatic representations in his own house, and, 
under the youth’s name of Euricles, the Maid of 
Athens displayed her marvellous capabilities. The 
secret soon became an open one in the city, and 
to obtain a bidding to Lysander’s entertainments 
became one of the most coveted of its pleasures. 
The straitest-laced of the Greeks pretended not to 
recognise the identity of Euricles, and Mr. Grundy 
looked the other way. 

Encouraged by this success, the sages ventured upon 
a more hazardous step, with the difference that the 
second attempt was so carefully concealed, none but 
the actors in it even suspected, still less knew, the 
secret. These philosophers, with Lysander’s consent, 
once let his daughter lecture to the young students 
of Athens and Rome in the Academy. They an- 
nounced beforehand (affixing the notice on the wall, 
above the thesis of the lecture) that an orator of great 
talent was engaged, but that he was deformed, and 
of an irritable and nervous nature, and if he saw 
the audience he would be unable to utter a word. 
In consequence, therefore, of this infirmity a curtain 
would be suspended between the speaker and hearers, 
in order to maintain his confidence. 

This was not a very unusual arrangement, and the 
announcement caused no comment. 


46 


Sbe Stanbs Hlone 


The Maid of Athens had told her father, when he 
urged the practice of music, that she had no song- 
bird in her throat ; but she had a beautiful voice in 
her tongue, clear, sweet, and full. All the same, it 
was a woman’s voice. 

The old Greeks possessed the mastery of a practical 
application of the science of acoustics, lost, or at least 
unknown, to us moderns ; and they applied this 
knowledge in the maid’s case. 

They constructed a mask of brass, so filled with 
connecting-tubes and sounding-tablets that the 
speaker’s voice was not only increased in volume and 
power, but the intonation itself was changed, so as 
to resemble that of a man’s. A large man’s pallium 
was also thrown over her shoulders, so that in case 
of any sudden emergency she might draw it over her 
head and retreat unobserved. 

This unknown orator became popular. The sub- 
jects of her lectures were composed by the philoso- 
phers, and then studied, learnt, and rehearsed by the 
maid. The splendid action of her declamation was 
of course lost to the audience ; and yet its spirit 
seemed to penetrate the curtain barrier, and her 
utterances excited a general enthusiasm. 

One day there was a densely packed assembly to 
hear a lecture by their favourite on a very popular 
subject, “ The Glory of Man.” 

The Maid of Athens was too intensely proud, too 
spoilt by prosperity and affection, too scornful from 
the effects of flattery and adoration, to feel what 
we should call nervous in the presence of the men 
who listened to her, even had the curtain been drawn 
and all Athens seated in judgment before her. 

But this day, as she came forth, with the scroll in 


TE be Bowl of Ibemlocfe 


47 


her hand, into the presence of the grave philosophers 
who instructed her, there was a troubled shade upon 
her brow, a slight trembling in her limbs, and a 
far-away, absent look in her eyes, that surprised 
them. 

“ What ails thee, maid ? ” they inquired. 

“ Nothing, and yet much,” she answered ambigu- 
ously. “ I pray you, O masters, appoint another 
speaker, for it is not in my power to lecture 
to-day.” 

“ Art thou sick, maid ? ” 

“ No, but I am troubled. I cannot speak the words 
written on this scroll. They are not truth, and they 
will choke me.” 

“ Away with these maidenish scruples,” cried the 
oldest of the conclave. “ These tremors are unworthy 
of thee, maid. Thou art promised. We dare not 
disappoint the scholars. Thou must speak to 
them.” 

“ On your heads then be the consequences of my 
words,” she cried excitedly. “ If I must speak, it 
shall be what is told me from above and around, not 
from your wisdom, O masters.” 

There was no time for parleying. Impatient cries 
came from the other side of the curtain. The mask 
was fitted on her face, the pallium wrapped round 
her, she stepped calmly into the exact spot from 
which she always delivered her oration, and the 
bell rang for silence. 

“ Commence, maid,” whispered the director and 
prompter. 

For a moment she hesitated, faltered a few in- 
distinct words, then, with a supreme effort, regained 
her self-possession, and began : 


48 


Sbe Stanbs Bloite 


“ Men of Athens, I am instructed to speak to you 
of the 4 Glory of Man.’ I am told to stir your pulses 
with the praises of the wars, conquests, government, 
and laws of mankind ; and I hold in my hand the 
words the sages of our country command me to 
deliver. But a higher force than theirs overshadows 
me. Voices from the stars, the centres of unfathom- 
able light, the sources of eternal truth, are controlling 
me. They order me to speak of man’s ‘ shame,’ not 
of his ‘ glory,’ and I cannot but obey.” 

Then, without a moment’s pause, she let loose, as it 
were, a torrent of eloquence in superbly sounding 
Greek, which, despite the heresies of the theme, 
enthralled the old philosophers alike, and the young 
audience. With the ever-varying inflections of a 
voice, which combined the sweetness of a woman’s 
with the strength of a man’s, she added force and 
meaning to each word and with a dramatic power, 
felt if not seen, amidst a silence as of the grave, she 
denounced the glory of war as nothing but the wild- 
beast instinct in man, causing him to slaughter his 
kind to give food for the beasts of the field and the 
fowls of the air. Shame, not glory, overshadowed 
the savage fights of mankind. All this she dared 
to assert to those who listened to her. 

“ The Glory of Conquest is the second theme,” she 
cried ; “ and what is that ? A holocaust of human 
beings, that one king may overcome another king, 
who stands in his way in order that the conqueror 
may gain more absolute power — a power as unsafe 
in the hands ot man as fire is unsafe in the hands of 
an infant. 

“The Glory of Man’s Government is my third 
heme ; and what is this ? A strife for authority, a 


XLbc JSowl ot Ifoemlocfc 


49 


scramble for distinction, tyranny in a monarch, cor- 
ruption in a republic. O ye who hear me, can ye 
gainsay that man’s government is a failure as well 
as a shame? 

“ I am now arrived at the fourth and last glory, 
the Laws of Man. Look to it, men of Athens, and 
see if ye can find aught but shame in these. By 
what right do ye buy and sell, and keep as ye keep 
your sheep, your ox, and your ass, the men and 
women made in the same semblance as yourselves ? 
Shame ! shame ! double shame upon humanity ! until 
every slave upon this earth is changed into a free 
man ! ” 

A murmur of disapproval ran round the audience, 
silenced as the orator again spoke. 

“ O ye men of Athens,” she continued, “ I have 
traversed your themes and changed your titles, and 
now the voice that speaks through me in condemna- 
tion prompts the declaration of the greatest shame 
of all. I mean the oppression of the other half of 
your humanity — woman. Thou, O man, art indeed 
her head ; but does the head gain in dignity or 
power by disabling or debasing its body ? The na- 
tions who in the ages before you, O Greece, have 
risen, flourished, and fallen, have degraded women 
as ye degrade her, and the debasement has returned 
upon their own heads, as it will in turn react in con- 
fusion upon your own, unless ye, before it is too late, 
redress the injustice.” 

There was another murmuring movement amongst 
the audience, stayed once more by the maid’s im- 
passioned recommencement. 

“ Hist ! hist ! The voice from above hath ceased ; 
but another comes from the East, and its echoes 

4 


5o 


Sbe Stanbs El one 


shall never cease to vibrate through the everlasting 
years. It proclaims man’s true and only glory -to 
be the restraint, if not the cure, of the devouring self- 
love within him ; to stand in his fellow’s place, and 
do unto him in all things as he would have this 
other do unto himself ; to seek the right, and follow 
it ; to shun the wrong, and right it When men 
attain this their true and only glory, then shall 
justice, mercy, and peace reign, man shall be 
glorified, and his shame shall be at an end.” 

The maid ceased speaking. Was it indeed the 
echo of that other, that Divine voice, speaking the 
same words at that same moment by the Galilean 
sea, that had thus inspired her utterances, and which 
she had caught as it travelled by ? Whose else could 
it have been, for who else had ever before proclaimed 
the unselfish doctrine of man’s loving his neighbour 
as himself upon this selfish earth ? 

A panic seized the audience. They rose as one 
man, and swayed as they stood in bewildered excite- 
ment, looking around as if for a leader or mouthpiece. 
In the midst of this pendulum of perplexity a voice 
from the crowd cried, — 

“ Speakest thou these strange doctrines, O orator, 
as an oracle of the gods, and are the voices who are 
instructing thee from Olympus ? ” 

“ The gods ! ” she answered. “ Ay, the gods ! but 
of a surety not they of Olympus, who be no gods, 
but myths and fables of man’s invention. O ye men 
of Athens, seek until ye find other and better gods ; 
for if these you worship do indeed exist, they are but 
deities of like passions with yourselves. Seek ye the 
God who will lead you to the truth.” 

The spell was broken, the charm had vanished. A 


Ubc Bowl ot Demlocft 


51 


wild fury, rather than excitement, seized the audience. 
Loud cries, and a rush towards the curtain, followed. 

“ The orator is mad ! An insulter of man ! Guilty 
of impiety to the gods ! Socrates, for less blasphemy 
to the deities of Olympus, was doomed to death. 
The hemlock ! bring the hemlock for the orator. 
He is guilty of reviling the sacred gods.” 

“ Down with the mask ! Throw off the pallium, 
maid ! ” whispered Alcides in her ear. “ Quick, quick, 
child ! Quick, for thy life ! ” 

The curtain was violently shaken by the students, 
and the Cynic, who loved Euphrosyne scarcely less 
than her father did, knew that her only chance of 
safety lay in her being seen. 

The heavy curtain was now slowly drawn back 
from within, and the young men rushed forward like 
a stampede of wild buffaloes ; and then, more startled 
than these would have been at sight of the hunters, 
the foremost fell back upon the crowd pressing behind. 

For before them stood, not only the most beautiful 
woman in the world, posed in an attitude of un- 
speakable grace, but the orator who had at once 
electrified and shocked them. Yes, before them, in 
the shape of perfect womanhood, was the atheist of 
the gods, the denouncer of war, the condemner of 
tyranny, the liberator of the slave, the loyal pleader 
for her sex — the woman of the twentieth century, 
two thousand years before her time. 

At this moment a cup-bearer approached the Maid 
of Athens with the bowl of hemlock that had been 
vociferously called for. 

“ Stay ! stay ! ” cried some one in the crowd ; 
“this woman may be the Sibyl oracle of Delphi. 
Beware how we oppose Apollo.” 


52 


Sbe Stanbs Hlone 


“ ’Tis Aphrodite, or Astarte,” cried another. 

“Tis the Maid of Athens,” shouted yet another. 
“ I know her by her feet.” 

Euphrosyne mechanically took the bowl handed 
to her, and the action awoke her from her trance of 
inspiration to the threatening danger close at hand, 
and restored her presence of mind. She fixed her 
wondrous eyes upon the crowd below, with the 
magnetic power in them with which a lion queen 
might quell her savage subjects, and raising the 
bowl to her lips, she said in a quiet, questioning 
tone of exceeding sweetness, — 

“ Men of Athens, shall I drink ? ” 

“ No ! no ! no ! no ! no ! ” burst from the astonished, 
bewildered crowd, as if the words had been shouted 
by one brazen throat. “ Throw it away ! Drink 
not ! ” 

A smile, half-pleased, half-scornful, passed for an 
instant over the maid’s face, such as the same lion 
queen might have smiled when she had subdued her 
refractory den. She lowered the bowl from her lips, 
and spoke in the same sweet, quiet voice, — 

“ Men of Athens, I thank you for my life.” 

Still keeping her eyes upon the fascinated herd, 
she retreated slowly backwards, bearing the bowl of 
hemlock in her hands, until she disappeared behind 
the inner curtain, to be received in the arms of her 
trembling father. 

“ My child, my child ! ” he faltered. “ Have the 
gods struck thee with madness, that thou hast uttered 
such words ? ” 

“ Father,” she replied, “ thou once advised me to 
seek the Unknown God. I believe it was He who 
bade me speak those words.” 


XTbe Bowl of Ibemlocfc 


53 


“ Maid of Athens,” said Alcides, “ he who swims 
against the current is either dashed to pieces or 
drowned, and he who fights against custom is either 
a failure or a victim.” 

“If other lives were endangered in the current, I 
would rather drown in stemming it than save my own 
life in swimming with it, Alcides ; and if the customs 
be evil, I would essay failure until I fell a victim,” 
was Euphrosyne’s reply. 

“ Thou hast spoken much of the shame of man, 
daughter ; yet thou must allow these youths the 
glory of sparing thy life,” observed the Areopagite. 

“ I thank them for my life, father ; and yet I cannot 
honour them for their motive,” she said. “ Had I 
been deformed, old, or frightened, then, indeed, their 
gift would have been a glorious one. But they saw 
that I was young, and comely beyond others, and 
that I defied them ; so their pardon sprang from the 
lower impulses I despise.” 

“ Maid ! Maid ! ” remonstrated Alcides, “ is it well 
to return and test the materials that compose the 
bridge which has just carried thee over the flood 
in safety ? ” 


CHAPTER VII 


AURELIUS THE CENTURION 

“ A REOP AGITE, thou must marry thy daughter.” 

±\ So counselled Alcides the Cynic, a few days 
after the scene in the lecture halls of the Academy. 

“Yes ; it must be so, my friend,” replied Lysander 
somewhat mournfully. 

There seemed to be no other alternative. The 
affair had excited an immense sensation in Athens ; 
its clubland was in commotion ; and Lysander (as 
usual, behind his back) was held severely blamable 
for his daughter’s extraordinary utterances. 

“ This comes of educating chaste women,” said one 
man of Athens. 

“ Such beauty and gifts are wasted in the women’s 
apartments,” observed another, who, if “one of us,” 
would be termed a “ man of the town.” “ The Maid 
of Athens should be enrolled among the hetaerae .” 

“Then let Hyla look to her laurels,” remarked a 
third, whom we should style a man of fashion ; “ for 
the maid would turn out a second Aspasia.” 

“ Pity no Pericles can be found among us to 
match her,” commented Alcides the Cynic, who 
stood by. 

Lysander had taken his daughter to Arcadia. The 
fame of her openly revealed beauty, the audacity and 
54 


Burellus tbc Centurion 


55 


ability of her declamation, and her high position as 
the Areopagite’s daughter, rendered her a subject of 
such notoriety, it became unpleasant, if not unsafe, 
for her, even though veiled and masked, to appear 
publicly in the city since the occurrence. 

It was with a reluctance bordering upon apprehen- 
sion that Lysander communicated the proposition of 
marriage to Euphrosyne. Had he and she been free 
to choose, the subject would have been difficult ; for 
the father knew the low estimate in which his 
daughter held the selfish, polished, sensual men 
among whom she had been brought up, and he also 
knew well the natural pride of her character, and the 
attendant fault of a contempt for humanity in general, 
fostered by the worship of her beauty and wealth, 
and heightened by her intellectual gifts. But there 
was a still more serious obstacle; for marriage in the 
case of an Athenian woman of prospective property 
was arranged by a law as irreversible as that of the 
Medes and Persians. 

It was decreed by the law of Athens, very much as 
by the law of Moses, that in the case of an heiress, the 
nearest of kin had the right to claim her in marriage, 
in order to prevent the family inheritance lapsing 
outside to a stranger, or to a man of another tribe. 

In the case of Lysander’s daughter, the claimant 
for her hand was her cousin Phaon, a feeble creature, 
both physically and mentally ; of whom similar 
examples are to be found among our own gilded 
youth, who try their best to be loose of life, not from 
force of passion, but from weakness of character. 

“ Euphrosyne,” said Lysander, “ I have too long 
failed in my duty towards thee. Thou art two years 
older than was thy mother when she blessed me 


56 Sbe Stanbs Hlone 

with the name of wife. I must now speak to thee 
of marriage.” 

“ Marriage ! Oh, spare me, my father,” gasped the 
Maid of Athens. “ I cannot accept this unhappy lot 
of my sex. To be looked upon as the chattel of a 
man chosen for me, and for whom I may even feel 
dislike or contempt ; to be set aside merely as the 
producer of his children, the forced guardian of his 
honour, whilst he neglects my companionship for the 
hetserae, leaving me to the sole association of the 
uncultured captives of my own sex, crushed as they 
are into frivolous idiocy by the slavery of centuries j 

No, father, no ! Bring me back the bowl of 

hemlock ; I prefer it to marriage.” 

“ My daughter,” remonstrated Lysander in a gentle 
voice, “ thy picture is too dark. With thy beauty and 
gifts, thou wilt be neither neglected nor oppressed. At 
the same time thou must not forget that the usages of 
life have to be followed, and marriage is the custom 
of humanity, as well as of our own country. It 
cannot be evaded, and thy cousin Phaon ” 

“ Phaon!” 

The infinite scorn, aversion, and defiance expressed 
in this one word might have established the fame of 
a Siddons or a Rachel. 

Her father started as if some shock had passed over 
him, but after a moment or two returned to the 
charge. 

“ It is the law of Greece, and certainly of 
Athens ” he began. 

But Euphrosyne interrupted him. “ I will neither 
obey the law of Greece nor of Athens in this 
matter, father.” 

“ Daughter ! daughter ! ” cried the Areopagite, “ this 


BureUus tbc Centurion 


57 


is folly. The laws of Greece must be obeyed, and 
even could they be set aside in any ordinary case, 
I, as a chief public magistrate, must submit to their 
decrees. Women must be given in marriage as they 
direct. Thy opposition places me in a terrible 
strait.” 

“ The laws of Greece ! ” repeated the maid, in a tone 
of indignant scorn. “ And what is Greece ? With 
scarce a struggle she has fallen to Rome, and her 
laws are not worth the parchment they are written 
upon, if Augustus chooses to pass his pen through 
them. Father, thou art a king in all save sceptre and 
crown ; thou art rich beyond the richest in our city ; 
and wilt thou sacrifice thy child to a Phaon, because 
thou livest under the shadow of the fading laws of a 
decaying city ? ” 

The Areopagite was silent. 

“ Phaon ! ” repeated Euphrosyne. “ The fool of 
Athens ! The refuse of the hetaerae ! The dregs of 
the wine-cup ! Father, think well ere thou carriest 
out this matter, for Phaon shall have no living bride.” 

“ What can I do ? ” inquired Lysander helplessly 
“ How can I stand alone against the opinion of the 
whole city ? ” 

“Waste neither words, thoughts, nor time over the 
fickle opinions of Athens, father ; it blows all points 
of the compass within a day. Send thou to Rome, 
with a petition to Tiberius to grant thee the right 
to bestow thy daughter in marriage to whom thou 
wilt, and with the messenger send gold unlimited 
for the favourites of Caesar ; and when the document 
arrives it will be time to reckon with the laws of 
Greece and the public opinion of Athens,” she added 
with a gesture of disdain. 


Sbe Stanbs Hlone 


58 

The Areopagite acted on his daughter’s advice, 
and the result was a protocol from Augustus, stating 
that Lysander was permitted to marry his daughter 
to whom, when, and where he pleased. 

But there was a rider to this concession, which, 
in their satisfaction, both father and daughter, if they 
did not overlook, yet disregarded as too improb- 
able to occur. It was added : “ Subject only to the 
superior disposal or veto of Caesar Imperator.” 

“ And now, my child,” said the Areopagite, “ how 
are we to satisfy Phaon ? ” 

“ Quiet him with gold, father, as thou hast gained 
the favourites at Capri. Phaon would sell his soul 
(if he had one to sell) for riches.” 

Phaon on these terms was easily disposed of, and 
now Euphrosyne hoped, that at least for the present, 
the subject of marriage would be set at rest. 

But she was mistaken. As soon as it became 
known that the hand of the maid was free, every 
single man in Athens was ready to become her 
suitor, and indeed it was a regrettable fact that many 
others were willing to divorce their wives to obtain 
so great a prize. 

Wearied with the importunities of these lovers, 
Lysander again mooted the matter to the unwilling 
maid. 

“ Oh, father,” remonstrated Euphrosyne, " what 
have I done that thou art so anxious to be rid of 
me ? Why should I marry in thy lifetime ? ” 

“ Child,” exclaimed her father, “ I begin to think 
thou art not a woman but a marble statue, re- 
sembling it in coldness as well as in beauty. Hast 
thou no desire for love, such as other maidens feel ? 
Is there no warm flow of blood, no heat at the heart, 


Hureifus tbe Centurion 


59 


no void in thy bosom, to answer to the yearning 
necessity of that attraction of woman to man, and 
of man to woman, which is the nature of thy 
humanity ? ” 

“ Not so, father,” she answered ; “ I am like other 
maidens of human clay, circulating with blood that 
seems to me at times to be rather the fiery lava of 
a volcano than the tepid stream of life. Yes, I dream 
of the love thou speakest of, ay, and I long for it. A 
love strong and enduring, a love of body, a love of 
mind, a love of soul, a great and mutual love ; 
but, father, I have never yet met with the man 
worthy of this love, so it is as yet to me but as a 
dream, a longing, and a shadow.” 

“ A shadow ! Yes, child, and whilst thou art pur- 
suing that, thou art losing the substance. There is 
no perfect love for humanity, daughter ; thou must 
take love and men and women as they are, or leave 
them and it.” 

“ Then I will leave it and them,” replied Euphrosyne 
passionately. “ Life is sweet ; but one may bear it 
too long. Gold is good, but one may buy it too 
dear. Love may cost a price it is ruin to pay.” 

“And pray, daughter,” inquired Lysander drily, 

“ what sort of man dost thou require to answer thy 
ideal of love ? ” 

“ One worthy of the name of man,” she replied 
proudly, not observing, at any rate not heeding, the 
sarcasm of her father’s question. “ One who brings 
to me a clean and noble life, one who reverences the 
gods, if he knows no better ones, and makes equal 
justice to his fellow-men — ay, father, and to his fellow- ! 
women — the rule of his life.” 

“ Foolish Euphrosyne,” said her father in a tone of 


6o 


5 be Stance Hlone 


pitying fondness, “ there exists no such man. The 
law of self is the law of nature, and to regard his 
fellow-man as himself is against nature, and exists 
not. What thou askest is impossible.” 

“If I find it is impossible,” she returned, “I will 
ask thee, father, to speak no more to me of marriage, 
or I will go and become a vestal virgin in the temple 
at Rome. 

Lysander looked at his daughter, and saw some- 
thing in her face which checked the words he was 
about to utter ; so he resolved that from henceforth 
he would cease to urge marriage upon Euphrosyne. 

Now it came to pass about this time that a certain 
Roman centurion named Aurelius was sent with his 
band to take a command in the citadel of Athens. 

Aurelius had already distinguished himself in the 
Roman barbarian wars by his bravery and military 
ability ; he belonged, moreover, to the patrician order, 
was a direct descendant of the knights, and was like- 
wise possessed of considerable fortune. All these 
advantages, combined with a rare modesty and kind- 
liness of nature, disarmed the envy, which otherwise 
would have followed the bestowal of such an im- 
portant post upon so young a man. 

Some one has said, “ When a Frenchwoman is 
pretty, she is violently so.” This may be parodied, 
“ When a soldier is good, he is thoroughly good,” with 
a goodness far exceeding that of priest or layman. 
The hermit or monk may flee the world, and judge 
in the retreat of the desert or the cloister that the evil 
of his heart is expelled, because no temptation assails 
him from without to which it can leap forth. The 
layman can gain high repute for godliness whilst 


HureUus tbe Centurion 


61 


making secret bargains with Mammon or Belial. 
But for the soldier — I speak of him who stands in the 
fierce blaze of the camp — there is no immunity from 
temptation, no possibility of hypocrisy ; for the light 
is ever clear upon the stumbles of his cleansed path, 
and there is a spy for each spot upon the washed 
raiment of his new life. A soldier who fears nothing 
but his God is through His grace one of the grandest 
works upon earth. 

In every generation one or two such men stand 
out among the armies of the nations. In ours it was 
the sacrificed Gordon — England’s pride and disgrace ; 
and at the period of this history, Aurelius, the 
centurion, at whose faith soon afterwards the Lord 
of Life marvelled at Capernaum, was the grand 
example. 

The centurions of the gospel are mentioned without 
the flaws with which the Scripture records are so 
impartially written. Even amongst the apostles, 
Judas betrayed, Peter denied, Thomas doubted, and 
Paul and Barnabas quarrelled ; but of Cornelius, 
whose prayers and alms came up before God ; the 
centurion who testified to the Divinity of Jesus ; the 
one who courteously entreated Paul, and Aurelius, 
who loved the chosen people, and manifested “ such 
faith as the Lord found not in Israel,” no failings are 
handed down to us. 

Aurelius possessed the three magnificent virtues of 
the true soldier — obedience, duty, loyalty — and in his 
case these were unbalanced by its vices. He passed 
by the harlot and the wine-cup, lived, notwithstanding 
his wealth, almost as frugally as his soldiers, respected 
the gods, devoted himself to his military duties and 
the care of his men, practised the rare virtue in a 


62 


Sbe Stanbs Hlone 


heathen of care for the poor, and was free from the 
overbearing arrogance of manner and mind, which 
is not an unfrequent besetment of the profession 
of manslaughter. 

The young centurion’s society was eagerly sought 
by the Athenians ; but although, with the high-breed- 
ing of his patrician origin, he courteously received 
their advances, he as courteously set them aside, and 
continued to lead the lonely yet active life, which was 
one absolutely apart from those of the degenerating 
Greeks. 

The Maid of Athens, all in retreat as she was in 
Arcadia, kept herself acquainted with everything that 
went on in the city. She was a true Athenian in 
her love of the news of the day, and was as eager as 
any London man or woman to be the first to hear, 
or better still, to be the first to tell, some new thing. 
Sappho went every day to Athens, in her Roman 
litter, and gathered tidings of every kind for the 
amusement of her foster-child. 

Now when Euphrosyne heard of the commotion 
caused by this young Roman soldier, and compared 
all she heard of his life and character with the men, 
young and old, of her own country, she fell a-thinking ; 
and as she thought, she wondered whether this man 
might not realise that ideal of whom her father said, 
“ There is no such man.” The more she heard the 
deeper she pondered, and one day, when Sappho 
brought an account of the severe punishment Aurelius 
had ordered for a soldier who had insulted a Greek 
peasant-maiden, she said, “This man shall be my 
husband, Sappho.” 

“ Oh, Maid of Athens ! ” cried the freedwoman, half 
in remonstrance, half in mockery, “ after all that 


Burelius tbe Centurion 


63 


thou hast said against marriage, to think of this 
Roman, whom thou hast never seen, changing thy 
mind ! ” 

“ Thou hast ever reviled marriage thyself,” replied 
the maid, parrying the query by an accusation. 

“ I judged of the vintage by the sample, maid, 
and mine was bad enough, as the gods well know.” 

This was true ; Sappho’s marriage had been un- 
fortunate. 

“ Sappho,” said Euphrosyne gravely, “ I have 
never protested against marriage itself, but against 
the men who, I feared, would force me to share 
it with them. As to thy taunt of my choosing a 
stranger, I tell thee frankly I would rather mate 
with a Roman than with a Greek.” 

“ Oh, shame ! shame ! Maid of Athens, to prefer 
the conquerors of thy people ! ” 

“ More shame to the conquered, Sappho. Our 
forefathers would not so tamely have submitted ; 
but let that pass. I would rather marry a Roman, 
because they treat their women better than the men 
of Greece, and my standard of a man’s worth is 
measured by this rule. I do not admire men because 
they slay one another skilfully, or govern one another 
more or less badly, or write useless if fine philo- 
sophy, or build temples, or carve gods ; but I honour 
them in so far as they consider us. The Roman 
wives are free. The Roman chaste ladies are re- 
spected, and are allowed culture and influence. 
Therefore I would rather seek my husband amongst 
the noble Romans, than from my own ignoble 
countrymen.” 

“ The lot of women is cruel at the best,” observed 
Sappho with a sigh. 


64 Sbe Stanbs Hlone 

“ Some day justice may be yielded to us, freed- 
woman” 

“ Some day ; but when ? Ah, maid, men are 
masterful and selfish, and will ever be loth to give 
up their tyranny. They are the masters, we are 
the slaves. Believe me, we shall be trampled on to 
the end.” 

“ Not so, Sappho ! everything has its appointed 
time ; every wrong will have an end. When the 
hour strikes, some man grander than his fellows will 
arise on our behalf, and then — it may be thousands 
of years hence — man, the descendant, as the sages 
say, of the ape, the swine, and the lion, will, under 
his influence, give us our due.” 

“Is this Roman to be the wondrous man?” re- 
marked Sappho ironically. 

“ No,” replied Euphrosyne solemnly; “the man I 
mean will be sent from the Unknown God.” 

“ Well,” sighed Sappho ; “ it matters very little 
to me, maid, what happens to our sex thousands of 
years hence.” 



GATHERING AT THE HOME OF ASPASIA 








CHAPTER VIII 


THE HETJER& 

r T^HE commune of Athens called the “ Hetaerae” 

J- had degenerated — if such a community could 
degenerate — with the decline of Greece. Under 
Aspasia, who held in her sway the accomplished 
Pericles and the ill-favoured Socrates, a tinge of the 
. heroic qualities which distinguished old Greece was 
retained in it, and Aspasia was “ Hetaera ” from 
necessity not from choice ; for so corrupt were the 
nations of antiquity, that with the exceptions of the 
Jews and Romans (who granted comparative freedom 
to and honoured chastity among women), no one 
of this unhappy sex could be celebrated or cultured, 
save at the expense of her purity. 

At this time, one Hyla filled the disreputable 
throne of the hetaerae. She was neither young nor 
beautiful. It is a mistake to conclude that youth 
and beauty ride highest in the gilded chariots of 
vice. These qualities are by no means passed by ; 
they are gathered like wayside flowers, and cast back 
again by the same wayside, when soiled and faded. 
"No woman influences man without experience, and 
experience comes not with youth. Hyla, who was 
verging on middle age, still preserved sufficient 
personal advantages to be helped by art, and art 
6s 5 


66 


Sbe Stands Hloite 


is ever more attractive than nature to those who 
break the laws of the latter. She was hard, shrewd, 
audacious, and unscrupulous, with an intuitive and 
practised power of playing upon man’s vanity and 
egotism. She gathered up the threads of his weak- 
nesses and wove them into reins, with which she 
guided and drove her victims at pleasure. 

It was a proof of the accepted establishment of the 
hetaerse, that Lysander allowed his daughter freely 
to visit Hyla’s house, and to attend the gatherings 
of art and philosophy held there ; but so rigorous 
were these Athenians in avoiding coarseness, and 
requiring polish of manner and intellectual culture 
and decorum in this society, that it is not improbable 
the Maid of Athens ran no greater risk as to tone of 
mind and conduct than would a debutante of our own 
modern day, introduced to the association of what 
are called “ women of society,” who, if all is 
true that is said of them, are not so unlike the 
hetaeras ; save that the latter were modest in their 
dress, and the former have no open charter of 
licence. 

In Euphrosyne’s case there was a guard of many 
barriers, for Lysander was not wholly blinded by 
custom and usage. Sappho invariably accompanied 
the steps of the Maid of Athens, and her calm and 
stately presence was in itself a safeguard. Besides, 
none dared show open or covert disrespect to the 
daughter of the rich and all-powerful Areopagite ; 
and even had these checks been insufficient, the 
intense pride and self-respect of the maid herself 
would have crushed at the onset the slightest sign of 
impertinence. At the feasts and orgies at Hyla’s 
house she rarely if ever appeared. 


TLhe ft>et£er*e 


67 


The Maid of Athens was the intolerable Mordecai 
in the gate of the successful Hyla. She not only 
hated her with the natural hatred of the unchaste 
towards the chaste, but with the even more deadly 
grudge against the incomparable gifts of person and 
mind bestowed upon this rival. She often longed to 
kill Euphrosyne upon the spot when she marked the 
different bearing of the men to the maid compared 
to that offered to herself and her courtesans. They 
did not loll in attitude in the presence of Euphrosyne, 
or speak to her in the half-contemptuous familiarity 
of boisterous flattery or easy admiration. As she 
moved, every eye, it was true, followed her, but no 
insolent glance or unpleasant look lurked in these 
regards. Bent heads and reverent homage was the 
unwritten law of mien towards her. Hyla could 
hardly contain her malice on these occasions, and 
secretly sent up an ejaculatory prayer to the gods 
that her turn of retribution might some day arrive. 

Once, when she had been especially irritated by 
these tributes of respect to the maid, she inquired of 
Lysander, in a tone half banter, half sneer, “ How it 
was he ventured to let his unsoiled dove fly loose 
among the ravens of her house.” 

“ I can trust her, Hyla,” he answered coldly. “ The 
sunbeam cannot be contaminated by shining upon 
offal.” 

Hyla never again attempted a barbed jest with the 
Areopagite on the subject of his daughter ; but she 
placed this speech safely in a pigeon-hole of her 
memory, to be found when wanted. 

It was the boast as well as the business of Hyla 
that she could bring any man she thought worth the 
trouble to her feet. She knew that in the following 


68 


Sbe Stanbs Hlone 


of such as she men were gregarious, and came because 
others did, and by consequence it was a dangerous 
example for any to step out of her train, or worse, 
never to join it ; and all her energies and wiles were 
put forth to capture the young Roman centurion, 
whom she had hitherto found indifferent to her 
advances. He was worth having for her prey. 

Aurelius was not only rich in gold, person, and 
position, but also difficult of conquest ; and, added 
to these attractions, the news-loving city was already 
debating the question of Hyla’s success, and wagers 
were offered and taken upon the result — not in 
money as with us, but in a slave, a favourite horse, 
a gem or work of art — and the play ran high. 

Hyla spun, and hung her spider webs at every 
corner : girls with lute and song waylaid Aurelius, 
Hyla met him — by accident apparently — at the 
temples of the gods, and laid her offerings on the 
same altar. She sent him notices of her receptions, 
acted dramas, and music concerts. It was all in 
vain. The Roman went on his way, as if all these 
advances were unperceived by him, and Hyla only 
received the cruellest of all rebuffs — indifference. 

One day, when standing opposite him in the temple 
of Apollo, the favourite god of Athens, Hyla’s eyes 
met those of Aurelius — those eyes at which an erring 
soldier quailed, and which in battle were said to be 
terrible ; and in them the woman saw depths such 
as never had been revealed to her in mortal eyes 
before ; a far-away look it was, half sad, half seek- 
ing, as though searching for something or some one 
he could not find. 

A strange tremor passed over the cold, hard heart 
of this wanton woman. She was not naturally what 


XEbe Ibet&r# 6 9 

is called a good woman, independently of the circum- 
stances that had made her a bad one ; but there was 
' g°°d in her, which leapt back in memory to the time 
when evil was dormant within her, and she thought, 
“ If the gods had sent me such a man as that, might it 
not have been that the hetaerae had never known me ! ” 
Hyla, as just written, was not a good woman, and 
under favouring fates might not have been altogether 
a straight one ; but had poverty and evil influences 
been spared her, she would never, as she herself 
had judged, been one of the commonality of the 
hetaerae. 

Again she looked at Aurelius. He had turned 
aside. She flung away her better thoughts, stamped 
upon them, and cherished in their place a baffled 
anger and thirst for revenge towards this man who 
would have none of her. 

One morning Sappho brought back the news that 
Hyla was going to give a banquet, and it was re- 
ported that this feast was to be the trial test of the 
hostess’ efforts to subdue Aurelius. 

“When is this supper to come off?” inquired 
Euphrosyne. 

“ The day after to-morrow, maid.” 

“ Then order our litters, Sappho, and we will go 
at once to our city-house and watch the proceedings. 
If this Roman soldier resists the wiles of Hyla, he 
shall, if he wills it, be my husband ; if not ” 

“ And if not ? ” interrupted Sappho. 

“ He shall be to me as if he had never been,” 
answered the Maid of Athens. 

The suppers at Hyla’s house were counted among 
the most exciting events in Athens. They were 
announced by public placards, and the guests were 


70 


Sbe Stanbs Hlone 


self-invited, under the condition that each one wrote 
against his name, in a large folio on a table in the 
peristyle in Hyla’s house, the sum he contributed 
to the feast, which subscription was paid down 
before he left. The amount was optional, for 
the wily chief of the hetaerae, who was mercenary 
to her finger-tips, and of great financial acuteness, 
knew that the publicity of the list not only excluded 
niggard gifts, but gave opportunities for ostentatious 
offerings, which would cause the liberal givers to 
be praised and talked about. The amounts were 
known and canvassed, and the overplus after the 
feast added considerably to Hyla’s fortune. 

It was her usage to give two free invitations. One 
to her own favourite of the hour, and another to 
some person of note, who was to be the honoured 
guest of the evening. On this occasion the latter 
was Aurelius, the centurion of the citidal ; the other 
a young soldier, a private as we should term him, 
of Aurelius’ own band. The anomaly of the captain 
and his soldier being placed on the same level 
went for nothing on this occasion, as the social dis- 
tinctions of the outer world did not count in Hyla’s 
manage. 

She always provided two coronals of acanthus 
flowers for these honoured guests, as distinctive from 
the wreaths of roses, lilies, and violets which the 
male guests generally wore at banquets ; and to 
their shame be it said, these marks of soiled honour 
were almost as much coveted by the Athenians as 
the laurel and bay crowns of the public games. 

It was not usual to reply to these invitations ; the 
acceptance was considered a matter of course. 

The house was not large enough to hold the 


XTbe 1foet*er*e 


71 

guests, so canvas was spread over the garden behind 
the building, forming a huge tent, under which the 
carouse was held. 

The Maid of Athens sent Sappho with her 
salutations, to offer assistance in the preparations. 
Hyla hated the attendant only a little less than 
her mistress ; but not daring to show this aversion, 
she accepted the freedwoman’s help with the best 
grace at her command. 

Early in the morning of the feast Aurelius per- 
ceived a gloom, almost an anguish, upon the face of 
his favourite freedman Marcus. Like the Maid of 
Athens, the centurion’s chief friend and stay was his 
servant. This man had been a slave in the house 
of Aurelius’ father, and had attended upon his present 
master almost from his birth. He had followed him 
to the wars, had twice saved his life, and was, in 
Scripture phrase, dear to him as his own soul. At 
his father’s death Aurelius had given Marcus his 
freedom, but the latter remained with his master as 
freedman. 

Marcus had one son, Julian, who was at once his 
idol and his torment This young man was the 
soldier in the centurion’s band who, as already men- 
tioned, was the second invited guest of Hyla. He 
was remarkable for a splendid physique of form and 
face, and the Athenians were never tired of praising 
the stature, proportions, and features of this martial 
demi-god. He was continually posing to sculptors 
as Mars or Apollo. His head, being as empty within 
as it was beautiful without, was soon turned. He 
became insolent and overbearing, and once or twice 
touched upon the point of military insubordination ; 
but these attempts were so quickly and sternly put 


72 Sbc Stanbs Blone 

down by his captain, he never tried rebellion the third 
time. 

All might have gone well in the end with the vain 
and foolish boy, had he not fallen into Hyla’s net, 
who was attracted by his person, and still more by 
his notoriety. She found the lad an easy victim, 
she flattered and pampered him, accustomed him to 
luxurious habits, encouraged his natural indolence 
and love of pleasure, and soon converted this un- 
cultivated soldier of the ranks into one of the most 
worthless and upstart of the youths of Athens. 

“What ails thee, my son?” inquired the master, 
who, although young enough to be his freedman’s 
own son, often used this title, given by masters 
to a favourite slave or servant. 

“ Is it true, O master,” replied Marcus, parrying 
the question by another, “that Julian my son is 
suddenly appointed as additional night-watch at the 
citadel to-night ? ” 

“ It is so,” replied Aurelius. “ The feast at this 
woman’s house, and the wine taken there, caused 
a tumult on the last occasion, which on this one 
must be guarded against.” 

“Is it absolutely unalterable? Could there not 
be a substitute ? ” whispered Marcus, with trembling 
hesitation. 

“ Marcus ! ” cried the centurion. “ This from thee, 
a soldier of Rome and Caesar ! Have I to explain 
that an order once given cannot be revoked, save 
under dire necessity ? Marcus ! ” he repeated sternly, 
“ I did not think ever to hear that a soldier of Rome 
could wish, still less ask for, such a lapse of martial 
duty ! ” 

“ Pardon, O master, pardon ! I am beside myself 


^bc t)ct£er*e 


73 


between love for my son and fear for him. Pardon ! 
I knew not what I said.” 

“ But why,” asked Aurelius, softening voice and 
look as he saw the emotion and distress of his 
favoured freedman — “why should not Julian fulfil this 
duty, which falls to him in rotation ? Is he sick ? ” 

“ Not in body. No, O master ; but worse, he is 
sick in mind and soul, and has fallen under the 
witchcraft of the chief of the city hetserae. But, 
O master ! tell me what will be the penalty if he 
fails at his post ? ” 

“ Death ! ” said the centurion solemnly. 

“ Then I am childless,” groaned the old man 
bitterly, “ unless ” He stopped. 

“ Marcus, my friend,” said Aurelius, gently taking 
his freedman’s hand, “do not again speak those 
words, for even from thee I must hear none that 
touches upon our duties as soldiers. Tell me every- 
thing, all that is in thy heart, and if there is any 
possibility of saving thy son except at the expense 
of martial disobedience, he shall be saved. What 
is this, my son, thou alludest to with regard to the 
hetaera Hyla?” 

u Julian is enslaved by her, O master, and he 
is to be crowned this night as her favourite with 
the acanthus wreath so nearly at the hour when he 
should be at his post that it will be impossible to 
keep both appointments. I have reasoned, implored, 
reproached, even wept, endeavouring to persuade 
him to stay away ; but he is besotted with this 
woman, and says he would die a thousand deaths 
rather than give up the honour of being crowned 
by Hyla in the presence of all Athens. Oh, my lord, 
have pity upon me ! ” 


74 


Sbe Stanbs Hlone 


Aurelius knew well the idolatry of the father, whom 
he himself so loved, for this weak, worthless son. 
He could, with a word, almost with a nod, counter- 
order the obstacle of Julian’s turn of duty; but not 
for one moment did the centurion intend to give that 
word or nod. At the same time he resolved the father 
should be saved his sorrow, whilst the son should 
not evade his duty. 

With all his apparent unconcern, Aurelius was 
quite aware of the designs and advances of Hyla. 
They had repelled instead of attracting him, and 
he had resolved to send a messenger at a late hour 
to excuse his appearance, under the pretext of military 
duty. Now, after a pause of thought, he altered his 
intention. 

“ Be of good comfort, freedman beloved,” he said. 
“ I myself will be at Hyla’s supper, and I promise 
thee, in the name of Caesar, he shall not fail to be on 
his watch in time.” 

“ Oh, my lord,” moaned Marcus, “ thou knowest 
not the power of Hyla. No man yet has ever escaped 
her wiles or thwarted her will.” 

“ Marcus,” returned his master, “ thou once delivered 
me out of the jaws of a Numidian lioness; thinkest 
thou I am not man enough to return thy gift by rescu- 
ing Julian from the fangs of this hetaera ? My honour, 
my attachment to thyself, pledges me to do so.” 

“ May the gods help thee, centurion ! ” said Marcus 
in a despairing tone. 

Behind the curtained door of the room in which 
this interview took place, Julian had heard every 
word, and he started at once to retail it to Hyla. 

He found her seated in a room full of flowers, 
women, and girls ; the latter employed in weaving 


tTbe Ibeteer et 


75 


garlands for the images of the gods, and coronals 
for the heads of the guests These last were composed 
either of roses, violets, or lilies, as before stated ; but 
Hyla herself was busy alone at a table, forming the 
two Acanthus crowns of honour. 

Julian burst into this apartment with so excited an 
air, that Hyla, seeing something unusual was the 
matter, took him into another room ; and there he 
told her of the conversation he had overheard, and 
tremblingly entreated to be allowed to go to the 
citadel on night guard, as he dared not face the 
consequences of disobeying his centurion. 

The rage of Hyla knew no bounds. Already 
piqued and tacitly disdained, she felt that if the 
Roman captain carried out his scheme, she might as 
well throw off the reins of her evil government, and 
retire into the ranks of her subordinates. For him to 
appear at her fete and openly defy her, to force 
her favourite to depart and expose her to the ridicule 
and derision of Athens, was more than she could bear. 
Nor, on the other hand, would she herself release 
Julian. All the city knew he was to be the recipient 
of an Acanthus crown, and were he absent, the truth 
of the story, or, more damaging still, the exaggerated 
untruth of the story, would be the talk of the town. 

“ Have no fear, dear youth,” she cried, stroking 
the crisp locks of the young Antinous. “ I have 
never yet found the man who can outwit me ; and 
if there be any difficulty, I promise thee to find means 
to rid thee and myself of this meddling captain of 
thine. Fail not to be here at the appointed time, 
and all Athens shall see me crown thee, in spite of 
this boasting Roman, who shall be as powerless to 
harm thee as a dead man.” 


7 6 


Sbe Stanbs alone 


Hyla at these last words raised her voice in anger, 
and they reached the ears of Sappho in the adjoining 
room. 

Meanwhile, the " simple one void of understanding ” 
believed Hyla’s promises, and agreed to obey her 
command. 

Sappho’s suspicions, now fully aroused, caused her 
to keep close watch upon the actions of Hyla, and 
this is what she saw. 

No sooner had the courtesan dismissed Julian 
than she sent out a slave, who shortly returned with 
a “ cunning woman,” who bore evil repute in the city 
as a witch and vendor of deadly poisons. She was 
closeted some time with the hetaera, and when the 
witch left, Hyla came into the flower-room, and took 
away the two half-finished acanthus coronets into 
the apartment in which she had received Julian. 

Sappho bided her time, and when Hyla was called 
away, and there was no one to observe, she stole into 
this chamber, and there on a pedestal lay the two 
now completed wreaths. 

She took them up, and narrowly examined one after 
the other. It was usual to line them with an elastic 
wire arrangement, in order to keep them on the head 
of the wearer when wine and mirth might loosen or 
remove them. Sappho observed in the centre of 
one of them a sharp needle-like steel point protrud- 
ing downwards, just over where the left temple of the 
wearer would meet it. She further perceived that 
there was no such protrusion in the other wreath, 
moreover, in the pointed one a red silken cord was 
twined amongst the flowers, possibly to distinguish 
it from its fellow. Quick as thought she disentangled 
this cord, and dexterously twisted it in exactly the 


Ube ft>et£er*e 


77 


same fashion round the pointless one, and, exchanging 
their positions, laid them down just where they were 
before, and glided away without detection. 

She lost no time in returning to the Areopagite’s 
house and informing Euphrosyne of the facts that 
Aurelius the centurion was that night to be at Hyla’s 
feast and that his life was in deadly danger. 

“ We also will be at Hyla’s house,” said the Maid 
of Athens. “ Look out my richest robes, Sappho, and 
deck me as it is fitting this noble Roman should first 
see Lysander’s daughter, and then we will save him 
from Hyla’s malice.” 


CHAPTER IX 


THE ACANTHUS CROWNS 

T HE preparations for the supper at Hyla’s house 
were carried on in no niggardly fashion. She 
was quite aware of the importance of liberality on 
these occasions, and her subscribers always received 
good value for their money ; and at the same time the 
hostess realised a handsome profit on her banquet. 

The vast canvas-covercd area was lined with statues 
of the gods, profusely garlanded with flowers of every 
hue, and provided at the base with gutters to carry 
off from the flooring the libations poured out in their 
honour. A large stand was erected for the musicians 
and singers, who, at frequent intervals, raised hymns 
and praises to the divinities symbolised by these 
stony semblances, the company joining heartily in 
the choruses. 

It might seem, at first sight, a mockery, to say the 
least of it, this carrying out the religious worship of 
any creed in such a place of evil repute ; but we must 
remember that the heathen are never ashamed or 
weary of their religion, and when this same religion 
(whatever its beliefs) is only a thing of forms and 
ceremonies, and not a rule of life and guide of con- 
duct, its rites are no more out of place in such a 
78 


XTbe Bcantbus Crowns 


79 


haunt as Hyla’s house than they would be in a Pagan 
temple or in a Christian church. 

The couches, seats, and tables for the feast were 
ranged under the images, leaving a large space in 
the centre for the slaves to move about whilst serving. 
After supper this space was occupied by the artists, 
dancers, singers, reciters, conjurers, and the like, who 
were engaged to amuse the company. 

Attendants, lights, wines, viands, decorations, and 
hired performers, were all forthcoming of the best, 
and without stint. 

Sappho throughout the day had silently glided, 
watched, and waited everywhere. It was now within 
an hour or so of that of the invitation, and she 
was lingering under pretext of clearing away in the 
flower-room, now littered with the refuse of leaf and 
blossom, when Hyla entered, followed by an upper 
slave; and the two coronals of honour were in her 
hand. 

She laid them on a table with great care, and turn- 
ing to the slave said, — 

“ Take heed as thou valuest thy life that when I 
call for the acanthus wreath for the Roman centurion 
thou bringest me the one interwoven with the red silk 
cord. Mark it well. Hemlock shall be thy draught 
if there is any mistake.” 

When the room was empty Sappho examined 
the crowns. The scarlet thread was, as she had 
twined it, in the acanthus circle without the steel 
point. 

Then in all haste she returned to Lysander’s house. 
It was now near the hour when the guests would 
assemble at Hyla’s supper. 

“ Bring me my best pallium, Sappho,” said the maid, 


8o 


Sbe Stands Hlone 


repeating her previous order, “ the one of royal Tyrian 
purple, and when thou hast coiled and smoothed 
and curled my hair, as thou alone canst fashion it, 
place the diadem found in the tomb of the Etruscan 
queen upon my head, and clasp her armlets beneath 
my shoulder, and bring the silken sandals for my feet. 
Then order the litter and the slaves, and it shall not 
be only Hyla that this Roman shall meet to-night.” 

When the Maid of Athens and her freedwoman 
arrived, every guest on the list had entered the 
banquet tent, save the chief of them all, Aurelius the 
centurion. 

Sappho bade the attendants wait in an adjoining 
street until summoned. She then went to the porter 
of the wicket through which each visitor was admitted 
singly, on verification of his name in the subscription 
book, and slipping a golden bribe into his hand told • 
him to join the revel as servitor, and she would admit 
any further arrivals. Euphrosyne, who knew the 
house perfectly, left Sappho at the wicket and disap- 
peared ; but she did not enter the supper hall. 

Hyla could not venture to delay the feast until 
the appearance of Aurelius, and to her great mortifi- 
cation she perceived that a strong undercurrent of 
curiosity and excitement prevailed among her com- 
pany as to whether the centurion would or would not 
appear. The fear she had entertained before that he 
would not come was now changed into a far greater 
apprehension of the results of his presence. 

The men, crowned with their flower wreaths, re- 
clined on the couches, the women sat at their heads 
or feet. Hyla and her splendid soldier Julian were 
stationed on a dais of honour at the head of the 
tent. Already he was half-stupefied with the effects 


XTbe Bcantbus Crowns 


81 


of the wine, in which the mistress of the house had 
ordered the ruler of the vintage not to mix any 
water, according to the Greek usage. She feared 
the young man’s rebellion, and judged it safer to 
render him unconscious of his dangerous position. 

Before long, Sappho heard the tramp of soldiers, 
and then a summons upon the closed wicket. She 
opened it immediately. Aurelius stood before her, 
and eight soldiers, who followed him, halted at a sign 
from their captain, and remained on guard outside 
the postern. 

“ My lord is welcome,” said Sappho, bowing low, 
and accosting the centurion in Roman fashion and 
title, as though she was a servant of the house. 
“ Will it please him to follow to the supper feast ?” 

He followed her in silence through several rooms 
until she stopped before a heavy curtain, drawn 
apparently over a door. 

“ There lies the way, noble Roman,” she said, 
pointing to the curtain ; “ the sound of the revel 
will guide thy further steps.” 

Not unnaturally suspecting treachery, Aurelius 
drew his short sword with one hand, and extended 
the other to draw the curtain. Sappho stepped 
before him, taking hold of it herself, as she said with 
an accent of irony, — 

“ Sheath thy sword, O Roman lord, for the peril 
before thee cannot be averted by any of thy weapons 
of war.” 

He did not sheath his sword, but it fell powerless 
in his hand ; and this soldier, who had never quailed 
in the rush of battle, or feared in the face of danger, 
now felt his heart stand still and his knees tremble 
at the sight before him. 


6 


82 


Sbe Stanbs Blone 


For, standing within a recess, as still as a form of 
marble, w r as a woman who in form and face seemed 
to him such as he had never before beheld. Was 
she a goddess who had descended there? No, it 
was no colossal Juno, no voluptuous Venus, no 
handsome masculine Minerva, no presentment even 
of his favourite Diana ; but a woman of human race 
like himself, of flesh and blood, with the tints and 
form and colouring of earth, yet with a life and 
light shining from within which surely was lent from 
another sphere than earth. 

Who was she ? Whence came she ? How did she 
come here? Was she one of the hetaerae? Impossible ! 
No hireling of vice ever possessed the divine purity 
and love that shone in those eyes. No gold-bought 
salute had ever touched those exquisite lips. Yet 
who could she be, if not one of them ? The feet of 
the great and chaste ladies of his own people touched 
not the mire of the houses of the hetaerae. 

With pale lips and stammering tongue, faltering, 
in spite of his utmost efforts at self-control, he 
asked, — 

“ Who art thou ? ” 

“ I am the Maid of Athens, Lysander’s daughter, 
O Roman,” was the answer. 

To be in Athens and not to have heard of its 
Maid, was as though to be deaf and dumb. 

“ Lysander’s daughter ! The Maid of Athens, and 
here ! ” exclaimed the amazed centurion. 

She smiled upon him, the smile men called divine, 
and answered, — 

“ Aurelius, the noble Roman, of as noble a life, and 
here!” 

“ Yes — but ” 


he paused. 


Cbe Bcantbus Crowns 


83 


“ Thou wouldest add,” said the maid, “ that a man 
may go where a woman is forbid. Yet believe me, 
Roman, there is more danger in Hyla’s house to thy 
manhood than to my womanhood.” 

“ But,” returned Aurelius, recovering his composure 
as he conversed with her, “tell me, maid, I pray 
thee, why art thou here?” 

“ I will answer thy question by another, centurion. 
Why art thou here ? ” 

“ I came to save a life, Maid of Athens.” 

“ And I came to save thine, Roman.” 

“ Mine ! ” 

“ Ay, thine. It is in deadly jeopardy. Take my 
warning, and drink not from the wine-cup Hyla offers 
thee, and, above all, do not permit her to place — no, 
not for one instant — her acanthus crown of honour on 
thy brow. Now go on thy errand, whatsoever its 
matter be ; and may whatever power is greater than 
.that of man preserve thee.” 

“ Maid of Athens,” said the centurion, bending low 
before her, “ what return can I make for this 
service thou art rendering me, this interest thou art 
so kindly taking in my unworthy self?” 

“ Preserve thine own life, Roman,” she murmured, 
so low, he only just caught the words. “That is the 
most precious return that thou canst make to me.” 

Their eyes met. Aurelius had no power to answer, 
but in that mutual glance the love of woman, which 
had never before entered the soul of Aurelius save 
as a passing fancy, came over and upon him, with the 
rapidity and force of a stroke of vivid lightning ; 
fastening upon his nature as by hooks of steel, 
never to be unclasped until death unfettered them. 
Euphrosyne had loved him ere they met. 


8 4 


Sbe Stanbs HI one 


In silence she opened a door behind her, and 
pointed towards the feast tent. Then an impulse 
came over the centurion to account for his visit to 
Hyla’s house. “ I came here ” he began. 

“ Nay, hold ! ” she interrupted him. “ Thou needest 
not explain, Roman. I give no half-confidence. I 
trust thee in all things, even into Hyla’s presence. 
Go, and may Fortune favour thee, whatever thy 
design.” 

One backward, lingering look from him met with 
such a fulness of love and joy on Euphrosyne’s face 
that Aurelius felt himself altogether another man 
as he entered the fete tent. 

The carouse was at its height, but a sudden hush 
fell upon the revellers at the appearance of the 
Roman. A murmur of surprise ran round the com- 
pany. The music ceased, the dancers stood still, the 
jests were silenced, and every eye was fixed upon 
the grand and martial figure, clad in full and glisten- 
ing armour, that stood at the opening of the tent. 

For a minute or so he paused, regarding the scene 
before him as the assemblage had looked upon him- 
self. His sword was still drawn, the scaly glitter of 
his breastplate shone under the blazing lights, and 
then, as he strode through the tent towards the table, 
behind which Hyla and Julian reclined, the waiting 
slaves and hired jugglers cowered away as his 
commanding form advanced towards it, and stopped 
facing the hetasra and her favourite. 

Aurelius lifted his right arm, his sword still in his 
hand, its blade flashing as sharply as the words he 
uttered in a tone of command, clear and ringing 
as that of a clarion, — 

“Julian ! Arise ! Depart to thy post ! ” 


Cbe Bcantbus Crowns 


85 


The young man rose instantly at the well-known 
voice, and stumbled unsteadily to his feet. Hyla 
rose also, and between the two the wine-cup she 
had been holding to the young soldier’s lips fell 
clattering on the table, the ruby liquid flowing from 
it to the ground. 

Hyla glided round the table towards the centurion, 
with a sinuous, undulating grace, half snake, half 
courtesan, and bent low and obsequiously before 
him. 

“One moment, noble Roman,” she exclaimed, “one 
moment only, ere my young friend here obeys thy 
just command. Deign, I pray thee, to honour me 
in the presence of all that is distinguished in Athens 
by permitting me to crown thee, if only for a few 
moments, with the acanthus wreath of honour,” and 
she signed to the slave to bring it to her. 

“ I thank thee for the honour designed, lady,” 
replied Aurelius, “ but the soldier of Caesar, when 
upon the service of Augustus, accepts no honour 
save from his imperial master. Nethertheless, I 
will, with your permission, bestow the fair coronal 
upon one more worthy to receive it, even the queen 
of love herself.” He took the crown from Hyla’s 
unwilling hand, and laid it at the base of a statue 
of Aphrodite.” 

The hetaera’s rage knew no bounds. As she looked 
upward into the face of Aurelius she, with the quick 
instinct of a singularly perceptive woman, saw some- 
thing new in the Roman’s eyes, which added to 
her hatred and whetted her desire for revenge. 

The far-away look had departed, the “ vainly 
seeking” expression was gone. She read between 
the lines, as it were, and knew that he had found 


86 


Sbe Stanbs Blone 


that for which he had been seeking ; and, furthei, she 
was assured it was a woman that he had found. 

“ As thou wilt, noble Roman,” she replied, stifling 
an expression of anger ; “ but surely it will not 
interfere with the service of Caesar if thou pledgest 
myself and friends in the wines of Greece ? Slaves, 
bring me my choice crystal cup.” This was one the 
witch had given her, and it had valves within it which 
opened, containing poisons more or less fatal. But 
for that satisfied look in the eyes of Aurelius, she 
might have spared him this peril. 

She filled the glass with golden-hued wine, and 
offered it on one knee to the Roman. 

“ I pledge to the hostess and her guests,” returned 
the centurion, raising it to his lips without touching 
them, “and reverently offer the generous tribute to 
the god of wine and joy.” 

He turned towards a statue of Dionysius, and 
poured the amber liquid in fast-flowing libation. 

Aurelius was about again to address Julian, when 
Hyla interposed. 

“ If thou refusest my poor distinctions, Roman, at 
least grant a moment’s indulgence whilst I crown thy 
soldier and my friend ere he departs.” 

She hastily pressed the second and fatal wreath 
upon Julian’s head, the more firmly because the 
young man had fallen back helplessly and half asleep 
upon the couch. He started up with a faint cry as 
the sharp needle-point amongst the elastic springs 
entered surely and far into his temple. 

“Julian ! Arise and follow me,” said his chief, hold- 
ing up a warning finger. Once more the soldier 
staggered to his feet towards the entrance of the tent. 
A scarcely concealed smile amongst the company, 


TTbe Hcantbus Crowns 


«7 

a covert grin of the slaves, followed the unsteady 
steps of the intoxicated youth, and Hyla knew there 
was a gratified triumph felt by her insincere associates 
at her discomfiture. 

A scream of sudden agony and terror checked the 
malicious amusement of the throng of revellers. 
Julian had reached the entrance to the tent, and 
uttering this terrible cry, had fallen in strong con- 
vulsions over its threshold. The poison, the venom 
of a deadly Asiatic serpent, had reached his brain 
through the fatal needle-point of the hollowed 
tube. 

Aurelius was at his soldier’s side in a moment, and 
ordered the slaves to carry the unhappy Julian to 
the guard waiting outside. As they obeyed, Sappho 
intercepted the procession. 

“ Noble Roman,” she said, “ I am not unskilled in 
the knowledge of sickness and disease, and I perceive 
it will be immediately fatal if this soldier is carried 
farther. Let the slaves bear him to a bedchamber, 
and I will attend upon him until the physicans 
arrive.” 

So they bore Julian to the nearest room, which 
happened to be Hyla’s chamber, and laid the livid, 
shrieking man upon her bed. Sappho, who had 
instantly divined the cause of this tragedy, removed 
the crown from the victim’s head, on which the 
inflamed puncture could distinctly be seen. She 
turned up the wreath, and, silently pointing to the 
fatal point, handed it to Aurelius. There was no 
need of explanation ; even the slaves present saw 
and understood. 

At this moment Hyla entered, storming at the 
attendants for intruding into her chamber. Aurelius 


88 


Sbe Stanbs Hlone 


sternly directed her attention to the wreath. She 
shrank away for a moment, and then affected indig- 
nation and horror, declaring that either the slaves or 
some jealous rival had committed the wicked act, and 
left the room bearing the coronal with her. When 
this was afterwards sought for, in the interests of 
justice, it was not forthcoming. 

Her departure was hurried by Julian, who, roused 
by her voice, uttered broken words of reproach at 
her treachery and crime ; so that, terrified as well 
as angry, she hastened away to rejoin the orgies in 
the supper tent. 

Another half-hour of the torture of the inoculated 
venom, and all was over. Skilful physicians had 
been summoned, but in vain ; and now there was 
nothing left to be done but to bear the remains of 
the ill-fated Julian to his bereaved father. Aurelius 
ordered that the great doors of Hyla’s house should 
be opened, in order that the soldiers should enter to 
carry away their comrade ; but they had been locked 
before the revel, and in the confusion the keys 
mislaid ; there was, therefore, no alternative but to 
convey the body through the feasting-tent in order 
to reach the garden entrance. 

With measured tread, and helmets in hand, the 
eight soldiers bore the livid, distorted remains of 
Julian through the hall, which so lately he had 
entered in the glorious prime of youth, strength, and 
beauty. Like the skeleton at the Egyptian feast, 
the melancholy spectacle inspired dread, if not more 
edifying emotions. As the sad procession advanced, 
the wine-flushed countenances paled, the bedizened, 
painted women shivered, and a panic seized the atten- 
dants and amusement-makers ; but no sooner had the 


Zbt Bcantbus Crowns 


89 


canvas hangings in the rear fallen behind the bearers 
and the still form upon the plank they bore, than at 
a signal from Hyla, the governor of the feast cried, 
in a voice that echoed through the hall in its mock- 
ing accents, — 

“ Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die. Men 
of Athens, on with the feast.” 

This appeal acted like magic upon the assembly. 
The debased men and wanton women, who had been 
half sobered by this appalling scene, recovered their 
spirits, Hyla chose another favourite, and the feast- 
ing and revelry recommenced, faster and more furious 
than before. 

Aurelius walked behind the temporary bier, and 
at a short distance the Maid of Athens and Sappho 
followed the sad group. It halted at the house of 
the centurion, within which Marcus sat in trembling 
apprehension for tidings of his graceless son. Aurelius 
turned to Euphrosyne, who had now joined him, and 
exclaimed, — 

“ I would rather face a legion of the enemy than 
bear the tidings of this day’s work to my freedman.” 

“ Let me tell him,” said Euphrosyne gently. 

“ I thank thee. Do so, Maid of Athens,” was the 
reply. 

Wrapping her head in her mantle, she passed quietly 
and swiftly through the now opened door. A slave 
conducted her to the room in which Marcus was 
watching for the return of his master. Euphrosyne 
did not wail and shriek, after the manner of the 
women of old who announced or lamented death, 
she drew her pallium more closely over her head, 
and stood silently before the agonised father. 

“ Lady,” said the freedman, “ I perceive that thou 


9 o 


Sbc Stanbs Bio ne 


art the bearer of something that concerns me. Is 
it of good or of evil ? ” 

tl Alas ! it is not of good.” 

“ My son — is it of my son ? I see it is. Do not 
delay the truth. Has he failed in his watch ? ” 

“ He has failed.” 

“ And must he die ? Answer quick.” 

“ He is dead ! ” 

“ By order of my master ? Speak ! ” 

“ Nay ; by the act of Hyla the hetaera ” 

“ May the curse of the gods rest for ever upon the 
woman’s head ! ” groaned Marcus. “ My son ! oh, my 
son ! my son ! my son ! ” 

The Maid of Athens did not attempt to console 
him. She took the rough hands of the freedman 
between her own, and folded them on her breast ; 
then, stooping over his stricken figure, she gently 
kissed him upon the forehead. Her touch and her 
salute were so sacredly full of pity and sympathy 
that they unlocked the sources of grief in the soul of 
Marcus, and he burst suddenly into a torrent of tears 
and sobs, which it was terrible to witness. 

The Maid of Athens left the room with bated 
breath and quickened footsteps, and found Aurelius 
waiting anxiously outside. 

“Do not go to him for the present,” she said. 
“ Leave him awhile with his grief.” 

Never before had Euphrosyne’s lips touched any 
man except her father. 


CHAPTER X 
PONTIUS PILATE 

“ T^ATHER, thy bird has found its mate.” 

A “ I know it, my daugl ter ’’ was Lysander’s 
answer ; “ and I have lost my nestling.” 

The “ new thing ” that Athens loved was found in 
the tidings that the Maid of Athens and Aurelius the 
Roman centurion were betrothed. 

The affair of the soldier Julian had been hushed up. 
Aurelius had used all his influence to obtain justice, 
and Lysander and a few of the higher-minded Greeks 
were desirous of according it ; but the majority in 
the city secretly opposed any investigation of the 
doings in Hyla’s house, and, moreover, were not 
greatly concerned at the fate of a soldier in the* ranks 
of their conquering army ; so, after awhile, orders 
came from headquarters that the inquiry should be 
dropped. 

Never did an approaching marriage promise fairer 
than that of this Roman soldier and Greek maiden. 
Well matched in worldly possessions, each possessing 
rare personal gifts ; both cultured in the philosophy 
of their time, and distinguished alike for birth and 
polished manners ; and loving one another, moreover, 
with a depth and passion as great and enduring as 
ever held a man and woman’s hearts together, the 
91 


92 


Sbc Stanfcs Hlonc 


course of true love in their case seemed likely to run 
as smooth as a summer sea. 

Yet a cloud no bigger than a man’s hand was rising 
above the horizon of that sea, and a deadly maelstrom 
was working beneath it ; and this cloud would soon 
burst into a bolt from the blue above their heads, 
and the whirlpool wreck the barque of joy under 
their feet. 

There was no reason for delay, and after a few 
weeks of happy courtship the day drew near when 
Athens was to be gratified by the spectacle of a 
wedding of unusual magnificence. 

It happened just at this time that a revolt had 
broken out amongst the mountains of Thessaly, and, 
at a few hours’ notice, Aurelius and his band were 
ordered to join the legion sent to quell it. 

With a foreboding sinking of heart and spirit, the 
Maid of Athens saw her lover depart ; and despite 
her strong opinions regarding the barbarity of war, 
she could not withhold her admiration at the pomp 
and brilliancy of the show as the Roman cohorts 
marched forth from the city. In her eyes all their 
pride and glory centred round her centurion, as, with 
love-lit eyes, she saw him depart, and recalled the 
devotion and grief he had manifested at their farewell. 
She withdrew to Arcadia the hour after the departure 
of the army, and lived quietly there in strict seclusion. 

Now it also happened that a day or two after 
Euphrosyne had retired to Arcadia a distinguished 
personage passed through Athens, on his way to 
Rome. This stranger was Pontius Pilate, the pro- 
curator of Judea, now a Roman province in Asia 
Minor. He was a man of note, and a favourite and 
early companion of the emperor Tiberius. In con- 


Pontius ptlate 


93 


sequence of this favour Pilate had many envious 
enemies at Caesar’s court, and not being very popular 
in his government, complaints had been carried to 
Augustus, and fomented at Rome. He was hurry- 
ing to the capital to counteract these influences, and 
had arranged to spend a short time at Athens on 
his way, partly on private affairs, and also from an 
attachment to the city, where he had received some 
years of education. 

In his youth Hyla had entangled him, and not 
many hours after his arrival he was a visitor at her 
house. Her attraction was no longer the same as 
of old, for the fastidious Roman did not fail to mark 
that Time's cruel talons had left their visible traces 
around the painted eyelids and tinted cheeks. But 
Hyla’s power was independent of fair looks. She 
was a good comrade, and Pilate, who was an egotist, 
and loved to talk of himself to a listening confidante, 
found the hetsera pleasant company. 

Pontius Pilate possessed ability and learning, and, 
to a certain extent, right feeling and a sense of 
justice ; but as these qualities were balanced by 
thorough selfishness and a time-serving tendency, his 
better nature rarely stood in the way of his self- 
interests, and his first impulses of right were apt 
to yield to the second thoughts of expediency. He 
was, in short, an example of that very common, but 
by no means high-toned being, “ a man of the 
world.” 

Pilate was a massively framed man, with heavy 
brows and thick lips ; a model of the later emperors 
of Rome, and like them given to self-indulgence and 
the favourite Roman vice of gluttony. 

He had been twice married : first to Valeria, a 


94 


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handsome virago, who died just before she had worn 
his patience to the last thread ; and secondly, as 
is usually the case, to an exact opposite ; for Claudia 
Procula, the next choice, was what is styled a “ sweet 
woman,” with no more backbone than a mollusc, 
possessing the fawning ways of the spaniel, and, like 
it, receiving more blows than caresses. Pilate soon 
tired of his pretty toy. He had refused her entreaties 
to join him in the East, and was seriously thinking of 
procuring a divorce. 

The governor took Hyla into his confidence with 
regard to these domestic affairs, and she affected to 
feel an immense interest in them. It was an article 
of her creed that it was more important to a woman’s 
sway for a man to be pleased with himself, rather 
than to be pleased with his companion, in their 
mutual intercourse. 

“Wilt thou marry again, Pontius ? ” she inquired. 

“ Certainly ! ” was the answer. “ A man without 
a consort is an imperfect unit.” 

“ Hast thou already selected one ? ” 

“No,” replied Pilate perplexedly. “Two failures 
make a man cautious, and the qualities I would 
have are rarely combined.” 

“ Describe thy requirements, Pontius ? ” demanded 
Hyla mockingly. 

“ For beauty I would choose a Greek ; for culture 
an Alexandrine ; for spirit, dignity, and character 
one of my own Roman ladies.” 

As he spoke, a fiendish scheme flashed through 
the active brain of Hyla, and she resolved to make 
Pilate the tool whereby to carry it out. 

Ever since the fatal banquet, of which Julian was 
the victim, Hyla’s long nursed jealousy of Euphro- 


©onttus flMlate 


95 


syne and hatred of Aurelius had merged into a fiery 
mood of longed-for revenge, and she had, till now, 
waited and watched in vain for the opportunity of 
wreaking her vengeance upon both. 

The whispering demon, always at the elbow of 
those sold to his service, suggested that now her 
time was come. 

“ I can give thee just such a wife as thou describest, 
Pontius,” she said, “ with yet another quality thrown 
in — the fortune of a queen.” 

“ Bah, woman ! ” exclaimed Pilate, in a tone of 
disgust, “dost thou think to provide me with an 
hetaera? Men do not pick up their wives from the 
Cloaca, Hyla.” 

It was a cruel and brutal speech, which no man 
had a right to make, even to such as Hyla. Pilate’s 
excuse was, that in the terms of equal and intellectual 
friendship upon which he and Hyla were, he had 
forgotten her personal degradation, and only thought 
that she meant to palm off some one of her train 
upon himself. 

She turned pale under her paint, and although 
sitting, staggered for an instant, as though she had 
received a blow and was about to fall. It was not 
anger, but a great shame and regret, which at this 
instant filled her soul. Pilate had wounded her to 
the quick. Ay, she reflected, had life been different 
for her, she, too, would have been different, and none 
would have dared to speak to her as Pilate spoke. 

But Here her thoughts stood still — those three 

letters represent the poison drop in the cup from 
which humanity drinks. She soon, however, re- 
covered. 

“ Thou hast jumped too quickly, Pontius,” she 


9 6 


Sbe Stanbs Hloite 


observed laughingly, “ and hast overshot thy mark. 
The wife I would give thee might challenge the 
antecedents of Diana herself. In short, she is the 
daughter of Lysander the Areopagite, the greatest 
and richest man in our city. Thou hast surely heard 
of the Maid of Athens? ” 

“ Assuredly I have,” replied Pilate jestingly. “ To 
hear of Athens is to hear of its maid. But surely, 
Hyla, she is to be the wife of my own kinsman, 
Aurelius the centurion.” 

“ Yes, she is to be, but is not yet his wife,” remarked 
Hyla significantly. “ He is away at the wars,” she 
added. 

“ Thinkest thou that I have no honour, Hyla ? ” re- 
sponded Pilate angrily. “ I am no traitor. Thou hast 
mistaken thy man. The Romans of to-day do 
not seize their wives as they did from the Sabines 
of old, still less steal them from a kinsman.” 

“ As thou pleasest,” replied Hyla indifferently. “ I 
only mentioned her.” Then there was a pause 
between them. 

“ Thou sayest Lysander is rich,” observed Pilate 
presently. 

Hyla smiled slightly. The fish was rising to the 
bait. 

“ He is the largest house-owner in Athens, besides 
being a partner with a Tyrian merchant, and pos- 
sesses lands, vineyards, and olive-yards more than 
I can number.” 

“ The Areopagite has no other child, I believe ? ” 
inquired Pilate. 

“ The Maid of Athens is his only one.” 

“ She is very beautiful, I hear.” 

“ I question if Aphrodite more than equals her,” 


Pontius pilate 97 

replied Hyla, sinking her envy in her desire to 
entrap Pilate. 

“ And neither a fury nor a fool, like her two pre- 
de — like my own two wives,” he said in some 
confusion, correcting himself. 

“ I do not deny, Pontius, that the Maid of Athens 
has a spirit, or, as you men call it, a temper,” re- 
sponded Hyla, “ and when she is fairly roused, I believe 
she would bring Caesar himself to his knees ; but her 
disposition is not bad to live with, and that is the 
chief thing. As to her being a fool, ask the wise 
men of Greece their opinion of her.” 

“ She is too good for my kinsman, it seems to me,” 
remarked Pilate, half in jest. 

“ Exactly my idea, most excellent governor ; but 
as thou art too honourable to supplant thy kinsman, 
let us drop the subject,” and Hyla rose, intimating 
that the interview was over. 

But Pilate would neither drop the subject nor end 
the interview, and after a little fencing, transparent 
enough to Hyla, he confided to her his wish at least 
to see and judge for himself if the attractions of 
the maid had not been exaggerated. 

In one regulation with regard to the hetaerae the 
Athenians were inflexible. They were never admitted 
to their houses under any pretext whatever, and as 
Euphrosyne lived in complete seclusion at Arcadia, 
Hyla was perplexed as to the means by which she 
could keep the promise Pilate obtained from her 
to introduce him to the Maid of Athens. 

But Hyla was not one to be baffled, and she induced 
a well-known painter to send a petition to Lysander 
asking the favour that his daughter would give him 
a short sitting as a model of Diana for a picture 

7 


9 8 


Sbe Stanbs Hlone 


on which he was engaged. These requests from 
distinguished artists were rarely refused, and at the 
appointed time and place — the latter a studio in 
Hyla’s house — Euphrosyne was posed and attired as 
the goddess of the chase on the estrade of this 
apartment. 

But no painter came ; Hyla had arranged all that ; 
and the Maid of Athens, with her hand in the action 
of taking an arrow from a quiver slung behind her, and 
with a greyhound at her knee, was wondering at the 
delay, when the mocking voice of Hyla, addressing 
some one at the farther entrance of the hall, ex- 
claimed, “ This is she of whom I spake. This wilt 
thou lose S ” 

Euphrosyne looked up. No painter with chalk and 
sketch-scroll in his hand stood before her, but a 
Roman civilian in tunic and toga of his country, with 
folded arms, and eyes fixed upon her in devouring 
gleams of mingled admiration, surprise and passion, 
which caused her to lower her own, half in fear, half 
in displeasure. 

She was used to the stare of men, used to see it 
fixed long and wonderingly at her ; and although her 
proud nature caused her to conceal the consciousness 
of this universal adoration, she was at the same time 
human and woman, and it is human to value homage, 
and it is womanly to prize admiration ; but the 
expression in this Roman’s face caused a shiver of 
evil to quiver through her frame, as if, in our modern 
saying, some one was treading upon the spot of her 
future grave. 

The Maid of Athens at once divined that she had 
been entrapped for some crooked reason ; and when 
Hyla approached her, half cringingly, to explain it as 


Pontius ptlate 


99 


a mistake, she turned upon her with a gesture and 
tone of intense contempt, as she said, “ Thou hast 
deceived me, hetaerae ! ” throwing into the last word 
a repulsion and a scorn that stung Hyla to the very 
soul. 

For to call her by that name was to insult her 
beyond forgiveness. Not a hireling of her commune, 
rebelling against her authority, ever dared go so far ; 
and she looked after the haughtily retreating figure 
of Euphrosyne in a transport of rage. 

Pilate had seen enough. All his scruples of right 
and honour had vanished. “ The Maid of Athens 
must be mine, Hyla,” he said. 

She laughed with a sneer. “ I told thee so, most 
excellent governor ! ” she answered. “ Hyla is rarely 
wrong And now,” she added, “ there is no time to 
be lost Hie thee without an hour’s delay to Rome 
clear thyself with Augustus and then obtain his 
veto on the betrothal of Aurelius, gain the bestowal 
of the Maid of Athens in marriage for thyself, 
divorce thy meek wife, and be back again at Athens 
before the legion returns.” 

“ But,” suggested Pilate, “ suppose the maiden and 
her father reject me ? ” 

“ Reject thee ! Yes, they would well reject thee , 
but not the will of Caesar. Art thou turned craven, 
Pontius ? Did thy ancestors consult fathers or 
daughters in their raid upon the Sabine women, 
who, if history speaks truly, made good and loving 
wives ? Fie on thee, Roman ! Take the good the 
gods give thee, and lose not another moment to win 
this fair prize.” 

That evening Hyla watched the departure of 
Pilate from the roof of her house. “ Ha ! ha ! ” she 


L. of C. 


100 


Sbe Stanbs Blone 


laughed. “ So perishes the happiness of the insolent 
centurion and Lysander’s proud daughter.” 

The rebellion was quelled, Aurelius and his band 
were again in Athens, and the interrupted prepara- 
tions for the marriage of the Maid of Athens were 
resumed. The wedding-day arrived, and in the even- 
ing all Athens was astir to witness the union of the 
child of its uncrowned king with the noble Roman 
centurion. 

The bridal processions were formed and moved, 
the offerings to the gods had been presented, the 
invocations uttered, the bride and her maidens were 
now in sight of the bridegroom’s house, her stepping 
over the door of which completed the marriage 
ceremony, when a troop of a hundred horsemen 
galloped into the midst of the joyous throng and 
cried, “In the name of Caesar, halt ! ” The order 
was obeyed, and two horsemen, bearing the imperial 
eagles, escorted a messenger, who flourished a scroll 
in his hand, and, inquiring who was the bridegroom, 
presented him at once with the document he carried. 

Amidst a profound silence Aurelius read what to 
him was worse than a death-warrant ; for by the 
authority, and with the sign and seal of Caesar 
Imperator, it stated that Augustus placed his veto 
upon any husband Lysander might select for his 
daughter, as the emperor had bestowed her hand 
upon one in high favour with himself, to whom the 
messenger and his soldiers were ordered to conduct 
her immediately after the serving of this protocol. 

Pale as a dead man, unable to utter a word, 
Aurelius had only strength to hand the parchment 
to Lysander, who came forward to ascertain the 



TIBERIUS CAESAR 







































V 

































t 


























































IOI 


Ipontfus BMlate 

reason of the interruption, and Euphrosyne, with a 
chill dread upon her of approaching danger, came 
forward and laid her hand upon Aurelius’ arm, 
inquiring, — 

“ What means all this, my husband ? ” raising her 
voice defiantly as she uttered this last word. 

A look of anguished misery was his reply, as, 
taking back the fatal paper from her astounded 
father, he placed it in the hand of the Maid of 
Athens. 

She glanced over it. 

“ This comes too late,” she said, addressing the 
messenger. “ I am already the wife of the centurion 
Aurelius. Oh, husband,” turning to him with clasped 
hands and streaming eyes, “ tell them that thou 
claimest me.” 

But there was no answer. The voice of Caesar 
was the voice of God to the Roman soldier, and, 
besides, Aurelius knew too well that the legal cere- 
mony of marriage was not yet completed. He dared 
not resist, nor could he assert a claim that was nil. 

Euphrosyne looked at him, at her father, at the 
silent crowds, at the soldiers, and she saw that all 
hope had fled ; she raised her arms towards heaven, 
and gave forth an exceeding bitter cry of wounded 
love, anguish, and despair ; then bowed her head 
as though to hide her agony. 

The captain in charge made a sign to his men, 
who closed around the Maid of Athens to bear her 
away ; but she broke away from them with a force 
they could not have resisted without injuring her, 
and approaching Aurelius, she threw her arms around 
his neck, and, drawing down his face to hers, she 
kissed it passionately upon forehead, cheek, and lips. 


102 


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“ Aurelius, my only rightful husband ! ” she cried. 
“ They may take forced possession of my person, but 
my love none but thee shall ever possess. I will 
carry thy picture in my eyes, thy image in my heart, 
thy voice in my ears, thy being in my soul, 
until death, ay, and beyond death, if, as sages 
say, there is a beyond. Embrace me, my husband, 
and swear to me the same eternal love I now give 
to thee.” 

The centurion returned her embrace in a passion 
of grief and love too terrible to be expressed by 
words. He tried to speak, but only a babbling 
murmur came from his lips. The gazing multitude 
stood awe-struck with the spectacle of this speechless 
misery, and a low murmur of sympathy ran through 
the crowds. Even the stern soldiers looked pitiful. 
But Aurelius and Euphrosyne heeded not. They 
cared not whether they were felt for, ridiculed, or con- 
demned. What to them was all the world, its praise 
or its blame, its presence or its absence ? They were 
alone together now in their unutterable woe, and too 
soon would be alone and separated. 

The passions are always eloquent, and carry 
humanity with them ; yet the chained mute despair 
of the centurion appealed even more to the hearts 
of the beholders than the -wild love-farewell of the 
Maid of Athens. 

But this could not last. With one long low sob 
Euphrosyne raised her head from her lover’s breast, 
and made no further resistance when the soldiers, 
at a second sign from their chief, tore her from his 
arms and bore her away. 

When the crowd was dispersed, and the guests 
and attendants of the wedding looked around, it 


Pontius Pilate 


103 


was to see Lysander lying senseless upon the ground. 
They raised him up and bore him to his home, and 
it was found he had been stricken with a paralysis 
that took away his power of speech and limb ; and 
how far it had deprived him also of mind and memory 
could not be ascertained by those around. They sent 
for his brother from Tyre, who, after arranging the 
most pressing of the Areopagite’s Athenian affairs, 
took him back to his own Tyrian home and family. 
Here time and loving care worked a great improve- 
ment in Lysander. He partially recovered speech 
and movement, but memory, if not a blank, became a 
confusion. He was under the impression that he had 
lost something, and could not find or recollect what 
it was, and he was constantly wandering about in 
search of it. 

One day Lysander was missed from the house, and 
could not be found in the city. He was looked for 
far and near. At last the old man was discovered 
sitting beneath one of the great cedars on the lower 
slopes of Lebanon. 

“ I cannot find it,” he said mournfully. “ When 
I am one side of the tree it escapes me round to the 
other.” 

They carried him in a litter back to Tyre, and 
placed him on a bed from which he never rose again. 
He lingered for some weeks, and just before the 
end his memory came back. He pressed his brother’s 
hand and said, “ I remember all. It was Euphrosyne 
I was seeking. She was torn away from me. I am 
now going on a long journey, and — who knows ? — per- 
haps I shall find her mother on the way. Take 
care of my maid, brother, the Maid of Athens, until 
she too sets off on this same long journey and comes 


104 


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to meet her mother and myself.” Then he turned 
his face to the wall and died. 

Lysander was a pagan, but he followed the 
guidance of the conscience God had given him 
according to its light within. Upright in his life, 
wise in his actions, just to his fellow-men, who could 
doubt the mercy of his sentence at the bar of the 
Most High? 


CHAPTER XI 


THE PALACE AT CAESAREA 
HE Maid of Athens was taken to the port of the 



X Piraeus, where a ship was in readiness to receive 
her. She was treated with the greatest respect, and 
her freedwoman Sappho, who had followed her foster- 
child and mistress, was permitted to embark with 
her ; and every possible attention from the master of 
the ship and the centurion on guard was paid to 
them both. 

For some days the rage and grief of Euphrosyne 
almost amounted to frenzy. Twice she attempted 
to take her own life ; for suicide under great mis- 
fortunes was considered a justifiable, if not heroic, 
deed in those times ; and the Maid of Athens judged 
her present trial in life to be worse than death. 
But these attempts were frustrated by the watchful 
care of the faithful Sappho, and when at last, from 
very exhaustion, Euphrosyne became calmer, her 
wise and devoted friend remonstrated with, and 
indeed reproved, her mistress. 

“To what purpose is all this folly and ado, maid? ” 
she said. “ Is the prisoner freed the sooner by beat- 
ing his head against the stone wall that encloses 
him ? What dost thou expect to gain by leaping from 
the light of life, of which thou knowest something, into 


Sbe Stanbs alone 


io-6 

the darkness of death, of which thou knowest nothing ? 
The gods have sent thee this misfortune, Maid of 
Athens, and it must be borne. ,, 

“ Speak not of the gods to me, Sappho,” cried 
Euphrosyne bitterly. “ If I believed in them I should 
hate them.” 

“ Does unbelief and hatred bring thee comfort ? ” 
answered Sappho. “ If not believe in what will, until 
thou findest a better way.” 

“ I repeat, Sappho, if I believed, I should revile the 
gods for their injustice.” 

“ Will reviling make them just, maid ? If thy 
philosophy has only given thee these childish fits of 
unreason, give me ignorance. Be brave, and bear 
thy trouble calmly, so shall the storm blow over 
and sunshine smile again. Whilst life lasts hope 
cannot die.” 

The practical good sense of Euphrosyne at last 
accepted this counsel ; she gradually controlled her 
impatient rebellion, and resolved to meet her fate 
with courage. 

They landed at Joppa, and the Maid of Athens 
was carried on to Caesarea, where Pilate chiefly 
resided ; for in that town he could lead his life more 
after his own Roman ways and customs than in the 
intolerant and turbulent city of Jerusalem ; and here 
she learnt that she was to become the wife of Pontius 
Pilate, the Roman procurator of Judea. 

She entered his palace, and was conducted into his 
presence, to find in her future husband the man who 
had stood gazing upon her in the studio of Hyla’s 
house. 

The explanation of the snare of this malicious 
woman was now clear to her. Her father, her lover, 


TEbe palace at Caesarea 


107 


and herself had fallen victims to the vengeful envy 
of the evil hetaera. 

She felt maddened with impotent anger. Her 
marriage lot was inevitable. What good to show 
her wrath ? Yet she inwardly vowed that she would 
never — cost what it might — be more than the wife 
in name of this treacherous Roman. 

Her consent was not asked, although Pilate re- 
ceived her with the deference and respect he might 
have shown to a princess, had such been betrothed 
to him ; and he either appeared, or affected not to 
observe the sullen scorn with which the Maid of 
Athens received his homage. 

The wedding was immediately performed according 
to all Roman usage and legality, but it was carried 
through, nevertheless, in strict privacy ; for it was 
known in Judea that Pilate had a wife in Rome, and 
the governor was most desirous that the disgraceful 
story of the betrayal and abduction of the Maid of 
Athens should not be spread abroad in Judea. He 
therefore directed that his new Greek wife should 
be known as Claudia Procula, the name of the 
divorced lady at Rome ; and as the latter had never 
been in Asia, the deception was accepted, and all 
suspicion averted. Only the most intimate friends 
and a few necessary officials were dimly aware of 
the real facts of the case, and these kept a discreet 
silence. 

Euphrosyne passively submitted to the arrange- 
ments and ceremonies ; and when all was completed, 
the newly made bride stood at the door of her 
assigned apartment, and by a gesture invited the 
bridegroom to enter. Scarcely had the door closed 
behind him than a heavy fall and groan startled 


Sbe Stanbs alone 


108 

the guard who was parading the adjoining corridor. 
He rushed to the door and flung it open, to see the 
governor lying on the floor and the blood streaming 
from a wound in his breast. The lady Claudia, 
gloomy and defiant, was standing over him gazing at 
her victim with the gleam of temporary madness in 
her eye. A sharp blade was in her hand, and from 
this there dripped the red drops of her crime. 

A signal to the watch-room, and the guard’s com- 
rades joined him. They lifted the wounded man 
upon the couch, and then with ready, if somewhat 
rough skill, attained on many a field of battle, one 
of them staunched and bound up the wound, whilst 
another went in haste for a physician. Meanwhile, 
the lady Claudia, as they styled her, was quickly 
secured, with her hands tied behind her, and removed 
in safe keeping to another apartment ; there to await 
the result of the surgeon’s opinion and the pleasure 
of the governor if he recovered. 

Pilate was still in a dead faint from loss of blood ; 
but after the examination by the physician he 
recovered his senses, and a cordial being given, he 
gained speech but not memory, and feebly inquired 
what had happened. 

“ There has been an accident, and thou hast been 
wounded, most excellent Pontius,” explained the 
surgeon, “ and may well thank the gods for thy escape. 
An inch to the right, an inch to the left, and thou 
wouldst now be standing at the ferry of the Styx 
signalling to old Charon to row thee over. As it is, 
there is nothing but a flesh-wound, deep, it is true, 
but not dangerous.” 

Pilate had now quite come to himself, and clearly 
recalled the scene in his bride’s chamber. “Give 


Ube palace at Giesarea 


109 

me another draught of wine, leech,” he said ; and when 
he had drunk it, he asked if this matter had already 
got abroad in the palace. 

“ No, my lord ; the soldiers alone, I find, witnessed 
the catastrophe, and the warriors of Caesar do not 
prate.” Thus explained the captain of the guard, 
who was now present. 

“ That is right,” returned the governor. “ Now call 
before me, I pray thee, captain, every man who was 
present at or after the attack, and every woman 
belonging to the lady Claudia who was within hear- 
ing at the time.” 

“ I have already enjoined silence on the men,” 
replied the captain, “ and the only woman near was 
the Greek freedwoman of the lady Claudia, who is 
now with her.” 

“ That is right, yet I would myself speak to the 
men,” said Pilate. “ Summon them at once. 

“ Support me when I speak, leech,” whispered the 
governor as the soldiers and Sappho entered. This 
was done, and the cup of restorative was again 
administered. 

“ Hear me, soldiers, and thou, woman, also,” said the 
governor. “ If one word of the truth or untruth of 
this story gets wind, I do not say I will punish the 
babbler who has leaked it, but I do say, and I swear 
it by the gods and the name of Caesar, that every one 
of you standing now before me shall be slain without 
mercy. I have spoken. Take heed that ye guard this 
my secret, as ye value your lives. Now — go,” and 
then Pilate sank back fainting, as the wound burst 
forth bleeding afresh, caused by the violence of his 
excitement and speech. After a short time, carefully 
watched by the physician, he fell asleep. 


no 


Sbe Staitbs Hlone 


At midnight Pilate awoke. “ Where is the lady 
Claudia?” he asked. 

“In the guard-room, my lord, under the care of 
the soldiers, who know her crime. It was thought 
best to keep her there until thy pleasure, most 
excellent Pontius, is declared.” 

“ Take me to her, and at once,” said Pilate. 

The strong remonstrance ready was silenced by 
a sign and look from, the governor. His personal 
freedman, who was present with the physician, called 
two men from the watch, and the four bore the 
mattress on which Pilate lay into the guard-room, and 
laid it by his direction at the feet of Euphrosyne. 

She was seated on a rude bench, immovable and 
silent as a figure of stone ; her eyes were fixed 
upon the floor, and there was not a quiver on eyelid 
or lip. 

“ Unbind the lady Claudia,” was Pilate’s order. 

Then she raised her eyes and beheld Pilate, pale 
as a corpse, with the blood-stained bandages over his 
heart ; and a deep glow of shame if not contrition 
rose to her brow as she looked upon what she now 
knew to have been a mean, cowardly act. 

She had committed it in an access of frenzy, and 
now the lucid interval had followed, and she was 
ashamed — not sorry, but ashamed , with her great 
pride humiliated to the dust. 

“ Maid of Athens,” said Pilate, looking up at her 
with his pained and weary eyes, “there must have 
been sore hate in thine heart to have requited my 
love like this,” pointing to his breast. “ Thou little 
knowest what it costs me to say the words which I 
am about to speak. I will not bind thee against thy 
will. Go, Maid of Athens thou art free ! and take 


Ube ipalace at Casarea 


III 


my pardon for this act” — again pointing to his 
wound — “ and all the love of my heart with thee.” 

She had risen as he spoke, and for some moments 
was struck dumb by his words. Euphrosyne’s faults 
and her virtues were alike rooted in a boundless, 
unreckoning generosity. Pilate had heaped coals of 
fire upon her head, and her whole nature leaped up 
to meet them in a flame of repentant gratitude. She 
had not shed one tear since her parting with Aurelius ; 
but now a woman’s reaction of feeling triumphed, 
and tears fell fast from her eyes, as she knelt by the 
wounded man and sobbed rather than said, — 

“ O Roman, thou hast conquered ! Hadst thou 
justly punished my crime, I would have died cursing 

thee ; but now Roman, I can never give thee love, 

but if thou art still willing to take me without it, I 
consent to be thy wife.” 

A feeble cry of joy came from Pilate’s lips, and 
for the third time he fainted, and was quickly carried 
away. 

The die was cast. Euphrosyne had sealed her 
own fate, and she resolved to meet it bravely. 

Her acquiescence cured Pilate, almost as soon as 
her dagger had wounded him, and, blind as other 
mortals are when they judge evil to be good, he 
thanked the gods for his recovered life and incom- 
parable wife. 

Better had it been for thee, O Pilate ! if the aim 
of Euphrosyne had struck that inch to the right 
or that inch to the left that would have dispatched 
thee to Hades before thou hadst filled up the 
record of thy life by a crime so terrible that its 
memory will last unfadingly against thee for ever 
and for evermore. 


112 


Sbe Stanbs Blone 


The Maid of Athens was no more. Euphrosyne 
was now the honoured and beloved wife of the Roman 
procurator of Judea, the highest sub-sovereignty of 
imperial Rome ; for the conquest of this people, whose 
history was one long legend of miracles, ranked 
hardest and highest among her conquests. With 
the grave drawback that she did not love her husband, 
and worse, that she enduringly loved another man, 
her lot was a brilliant one ; and she could not but 
secretly acknowledge there was much that was good 
left to her. The love of life, natural to her splendid 
youth and strong vitality, returned. The gift of 
beauty, unequalled among women, notwithstanding 
her apparent unconsciousness of it, was valued by 
Euphrosyne, at least, at its just worth, and increased the 
deference, almost adoration, of those who approached 
her. Her condition as a Roman wife was honourable 
and free. She was supreme at home, and enjoyed 
what liberty she pleased abroad, and scarce a living 
princess exceeded her in personal fiches. Her uncle, 
acting as we should call it as her trustee, wisely 
and faithfully administered her property, and had 
the policy from time to time to offer Pilate sums 
of money, which did not lessen the grasping governor’s 
estimation of the wife from whom indirectly he 
derived them. 

Although Euphrosyne’s heart was not at sufficient 
“leisure from itself” to form intimate friendships, 
she found a great and new pleasure in the society 
of the Jewish and Roman ladies of Caesarea and 
Jerusalem. Like all women of the finest nature, she 
felt lovingly and loyally towards her own sex, and 
hitherto, with the exception of Sappho, she had never 
before associated with women of good reputation ; 


XTbe palace at Caesarea 


113 

it was therefore a fresh and delightful experience to 
meet with the proud, grand Roman ladies, who had 
so much affinity with herself, and the matrons and 
maidens of the Jews, who, from their exquisite por- 
traiture in the Old Testament to the present day, 
take from their sweet natures and bright intelligences 
so high a place among the women of the nations. 

With her thirst for knowledge and hunger after 
truth, Euphrosyne soon began to feel great interest 
in the customs, history, and religion of this strange 
and wonderful people, who differed so utterly from 
the heathen world to which she nominally belonged. 
She studied and admired the grand language and 
imagery of the Hebrew Scriptures, and marvelled at, 
if she did not believe in, its unique history. She read 
but understood not, and, if asked the meaning of what 
she read, would have probably answered in the words 
of the Ethiopian eunuch : “ How can I, except some 
one should guide me ? ” 

Alive to everything that was going on around her, 
she now and then heard rumours of a great Galilean 
Prophet, who was working wonders in curing the sick 
and afflicted with words of magic — as it was supposed 
by those who informed her — and who sometimes came 
to Jerusalem and caused no small stir among the 
priests and people. 

“Sappho,” she inquired, “who is this Man of 
whom I hear such incredible things? Find out from 
whence He comes, who He is, and tell me.” 

“ I will call Miriam, the Hebrew minstrel maiden,” 
replied Sappho. “ She is devoted to her religion, and 
will inform thee better than I, an alien, can.” 

Miriam was in the lady Claudia’s service. She 
had a beautiful contralto voice, perfectly trained, 

8 


Sbe Stanbs Blone 


114 

and possessed the musical genius of her race. She 
entered her lady’s presence harp in hand, supposing 
she was summoned to sing, and began preluding on 
her instrument. 

“Stay, maiden,” said the lady, raising her hand. 
“ I did not desire music just now, but to hear some- 
what of this great Sage who is so much talked of 
among thy people.” 

“ Thou meanest the Prophet of Nazareth, lady. Ah, 
He is a good man ; and yet our priests and rulers say 
that He is but a servant of the awful Beelzebub, and 
they seek to kill Him ” 

“ Is He then a man of consequence and riches that 
they thus fear Him ? ” inquired Euphrosyne. 

“ On the contrary, He is a lowly workman of 
Nazareth, so poor He has no home to shelter Him, no 
certain daily food or garments, save such as His dis- 
ciples provide for Him.” 

“ Ah ! ” cried Euphrosyne, with sudden interest. 
“ Such a Man, who can make His mark against these 
disadvantages, must be a hero indeed. Hast thou 
ever seen Him, maiden ? ” 

“ I have, most excellent lady, and He neither looks 
nor speaks like other men. He is young, they say 
and yet He seems — no, not old — but crushed with 
care. He has been known to weep, but never seen 
to smile, and His disciples are only poor fishermen 
from the Galilean sea ; and yet the priests fear Him.” 

“ Sappho, Sappho, I must see this Man,” cried 
Euphrosyne. “ There must be some hidden power in 
One so insignificant in circumstances to stir His world. 
Is He in Jerusalem, minstrel ? If so, I must see Him.” 

“Nay, lady, nay,” cried Sappho. “Such an One 
as Miriam describes this Man is not fit to enter the 


Ube palace at Caesarea 


115 

excellent governor’s palace and converse with the 
governor’s wife.” 

“ Shame ! Sappho, shame ! ” exclaimed her mistress, 
a deep glow of anger rising to her forehead. “ Art 
thou so forgetful or so flattering, or am I grown so 
upstart, that thou speakest as though I, whose 
mother was a fisher’s daughter, am too high to 
associate with the like ! The poverty of this Prophet 
is His nobility in my eyes ; for as I am poor in 
half of my origin, so do I take my stand by the 
side of the poor, and reverence them for their afflic- 
tion. I must meet this Sage. Is He now in Jerusalem, 
Miriam ? ” 

“ He came to the feast, lady. It is over, and He 
has returned to Galilee.” 

At this moment the governor entered the room, 
and Sappho and Miriam retired. 

“ What ails my queen ? ” inquired Pilate, taking 
his wife’s hand as tenderly as a lover might, and 
as respectfully as if it were that of an empress. 

“Pontius,” she answered, withdrawing her hand 
impatiently, “who is this Man whose sayings and 
doings are so noised abroad among the Jews? Dost 
thou know anything concerning Him ? ” 

“ Oh, in Minerva’s name, Claudia, do not question 
me about the religious impostors ever springing up 
among these obstinate Hebrews,” cried Pilate, in a 
tone half levity, half contempt. “ Certainly I have 
heard of some disturber of the peace who is wander- 
ing over Herod’s kingdom and comes now and then 
to Jerusalem, exciting the envy and rage of the 
arrogant priests, who declare He is a danger to their 
superstition. But we Romans, thou knowest, Claudia, 
do not concern ourselves with the religion of our 


n6 Sbe Stanbs Hlone 

conquered provinces. It is quite enough to follow 
our own.” 

“What is the name of this Innovator?” asked 
Euphrosyne, not noticing the last remarks of her 
lord. 

“ I never heard, or, if I did hear, I have forgotten,” 
he answered carelessly. 

“ I am very desirous to see Him, Pontius.” 

“ As thou pleasest, my queen. I have no objec- 
tion,” assented the governor ; and the subject 
dropped. 

Not very long after this conversation an occurrence 
took place that entirely stopped Euphrosyne’s 
interest in the religion of Jehovah and in the remark- 
able Prophet who was credited with the design of 
overturning it. 

Some great feast or commemoration was about 
to be held in the Temple, and the governor’s wife, 
who was then in Jerusalem and had hitherto only 
admired the stately splendour of its outside grandeur, 
determined to witness and judge for herself how 
far truth was revealed in the faith of this singular 
race. 

She had no idea that women had no part or lot 
in the Levitical rites, save as thankful listeners to 
the echoes of the distant praises and prayers. Even 
in women-oppressed Greece, the captive wives, sisters, 
mothers, and daughters, had access to the temples 
of the gods, and were allowed mutual worship of their 
images with the men. 

So in happy ignorance of this exclusion Euphrosyne 
ordered her litter and retinue of attendants, and 
with a feeling of gracious condescension, as though 
she were doing an honour to the God of the Hebrews 


XTbe fl>aiace at Caesarea 117 

and conferring a favour upon the priests, she drew 
up at the beautiful golden gate of the Temple, now 
closed, and sent in a Jewish messenger requesting 
admittance. 

She was so sure of a favourable answer that she 
alighted from her litter, and stood at the gate of the 
building ready to enter. Looking through the 
gorgeous network, she observed the devout crowds 
that filled the interior, the carved pillars of cunning 
work, the golden roof, the precious stone pavement, 
and the exquisite symmetry of the proportions and 
general effect, all of which struck and pleased her 
Greek instinct of beauty. But what surprised her 
most was the entire absence of all living similitude ; 
and a confused recollection entered her memory that 
she had heard or read, in the Hebrew sacred books, 
that the great Jehovah called Himself a jealous God, 
and threatened dire vengeance on all who represented 
Him in graven images. 

The services had not yet begun. The congregation 
were devoutly waiting whilst Caiaphas, the high priest» 
was robing in one of the sacred chambers, when the 
message from the governor’s wife was brought to him. 
At first the angry displeasure that a Gentile and a 
woman should dare approach to pollute the holy 
places by her presence prompted the haughty priest 
to send and desire the departure of the profane 
intruder ; but more prudent reflection checked this 
insolence. If Pilate were angered, he would not 
scruple for one moment to mingle the proud hierarch’s 
blood with his own sacrifices, as he had treated some 
Galilean rebels, and none would dare avenge the 
sacrilege. Rome had a grasp of iron ; its sub-rulers 
were absolute, and the beautiful wife of the Roman 


t i b 5 be Stanbs Hlone 

governor was well known as no nominal power behind 
the throne. 

So the proud priest concealed his scorn and marched 
with his train of white-robed priests, Levites, singers, 
and minstrels through the space cleared of the 
worshippers to the golden gate, at which Euphrosyne 
stood in all her grace, beauty, and dignity, to re- 
ceive him. 

Accustomed to the simple raiment and ministra- 
tions of the humble officiators of her own superb 
temples, Euphrosyne was much impressed by the 
imposing procession before her. The high priest 
heading it, his noble features inherited from his great 
forefather Abraham, the friend of God, strongly 
marked upon his scornful face, was attired in the 
blue, scarlet, and embroidered fine linen of the 
Aaronic vestments. The bells and pomegranates 
trembling on his skirts, the mystic gems of theUrim 
and Thummim gleaming upon his breast, and the fair 
mitre bearing the awful name of Holiness to Jehovah 
surmounting his head, he appeared to Euphrosyne as 
the representative of the Unknown God she had 
ignorantly worshipped ; whilst the train of white- 
clothed priests and Levites swaying their censers, and 
accompanying their musical instruments with chaunt 
and song as they followed, formed a striking back- 
ground to this grand form in the front. For a few 
seconds she felt as if struck speechless and immovable, 
and could not return the obeisance with which the 
imperious but courtly priest saluted her. 

“ I await thy commands, most excellent lady,” he 
said, after a short pause. 

“ 1 desire to be present and to join in thy praises 
and sacrifices, great priest,” Euphrosyne, who had now 


TLbc fl>alace at C^sarea 


119 

recovered her self-possession, replied with a courtesy 
of manner equal to his own. As she spoke every eye 
was riveted in wonder at her singular beauty, and 
charmed with the exquisite tone of her delightful 
voice — “for,” she continued, “I am a seeker after 
truth, and would fain find it in the knowledge of thy 
Hebrew God.” 

A smile of infinite contempt curled the lip of 
Caiaphas, but was instantly suppressed. A woman, 
and a Gentile ! presuming to seek truth on equal terms 
with the children of Abraham ! He stifled the curt 
rebuke he would have gladly spoken, and answered 
with cold civility — 

“Jehovah does not refuse the outer sanctuaries to 
the stranger who sojourneth amongst us, nor does 
He forbid women to humbly worship apart and in 
submission. With them, most excellent lady, thou 
art welcome to join. To the Court of the Women, 
slaves,” he added, turning imperiously to Euphrosyne’s 
attendants. 

“The Court of the Women,” she repeated. “Are 
not women present at thy sacrifices, prayers, and 
offerings ? ” 

“ No,” sternly responded Caiaphas ; “Jehovah only 
judges merl worthy to witness the solemnities of His 
worship. Women are permitted to listen to the 
echoes of the psalms, and may learn by signs when 
the beasts are slain and offered ; but their presence 
is forbidden in the holy places. They are not pro- 
hibited from praying, however,” he added conde- 
scendingly, observing the anger gathering upon 
Euphrosyne’s face. . 

“ Has the soul a sex, then,” she inquired sarcastically, 

“ that thou denyest ours the privileges of religion ? ” 


120 


Sbc 5tarti>s Blonc 


“ I am not competent to answer that question, most 
excellent lady,” replied the high priest, with an ill- 
concealed sneer ; “ but one thing I can certainly aver, 
if it has, it is not female.” 

Euphrosyne did not answer. She turned her back 
upon Caiaphas with an offended gesture, drew hei 
regal robe away, as if it should not be contaminated 
by any priestly contact, and signed her servants tc 
bring her litter. But she did not go to the Court 
of the Women, and from that hour she lost all 
interest in the beliefs of the Jews, and forgot the very 
existence of their wondrous Prophet. 

The Church claims apostolical succession as their 
prerogative of power, and it is a goodly heritage, and 
one that cannot be too highly prized ; yet let them 
beware lest its virtue be lost in passing through 
polluted channels. Caiaphas was the consecrated 
priest of the Most High God, directly descended from 
Aaron, the divinely anointed priestly ambassador to 
the chosen people ; and Caiaphas, beneath his splendid 
sacerdotal robes, was but a whited sepulchre, possessed 
with a devil, who filled him with such envy, malice, 
and hate, as prompted him to be the chief instigator 
of the awful death-sentence pronounced upon the 
human form of the Son of God. 


CHAPTER XII 

A BROKEN PROMISE 

P ILATE was an uxorious, even an infatuated 
husband. He was proud of so unequalled a 
wife, whom he did not value less because he had not 
really won her ; and there was a force and firmness 
in Euphrosyne’s character which dominated his own, 
apt, too often, to be vacillating if not cowardly. 

The personal repulsion she had felt for Pilate had 
in great measure passed away after his generous 
pardon. Indifference she felt at the best, yet she 
had too much practical sense not to make the best 
of her married life, and they lived together in at 
least good and friendly relations. But soon after 
the scene of Euphrosyne’s repulse at the Temple, an 
event happened which nearly shipwrecked their con- 
jugal amity. 

A case of cruelty and violence had occurred in the 
family of a Roman official at Caesarea. A slave had 
stabbed his master, not, as it turned out, mortally ; 
and in the commotion w'hich ensued, circumstances 
of oppression and provocation so terrible on the 
master’s part came to light, that even in these tyran- 
nical days excited an angry cry of public sympathy 
with the slave. Euphrosyne became acquainted with 
these facts, and her strong sense of justice and generous 
121 


122 


Sbe Stanbs Hlone 


heart was aroused to such a degree that she exerted 
all her influence over Pilate to right this matter, 
urging the case so persistently, that at last, more 
wearied than convinced, he half promised the pardon 
of the slave, or rather, the mitigation of the death- 
sentence. 

“ No, Pontius,” she said, “ I will not be content 
with half promises. Pledge me by thy word, thy 
oath, that the slave shall only be scourged, as is 
just for his attempt, and that his master shall give 
him his liberty, in penalty for his cruel treatment.” 

“ Thou art imperative, goddess,” replied Pilate, 
laughing. “Well, it is brought up against us Roman 
governors that we take bribes, and in this case it 
shall be true, Claudia ; if I give thee this slave, I 
must have my price.” 

“ Name it, Pontius ; if it were my last coin, even 
my last jewel, it is thine.” 

“ Keep thy jewels to deck thy own beauty, queen. 
The price I ask as a favour is, after all, mine by 
right. Claudia, since the day I married thee, thou 
hast submitted to my love and embraces, but never 
returned them. Now return to me the kisses and 
caresses I will give thee, with an equal warmth and 
love, and the criminal for which thou pleadest shall 
be free.” 

The next instant he had taken her in his arms, 
almost crushing her in a fierce embrace, and covering 
her face with kisses as of fire. 

W r hen at last she disentangled herself from his 
arms, she was pale as a sheet of moonlight. There 
was a strange light and look upon her face and in 
her eyes. She steadied her figure a moment, and 
then, winding her beautiful arms, bare to the shoulder, 


123 


B Broken promise 

around Pilate’s massive form, she kissed him as 
he had done to her, on forehead, cheek, and lip, 
and, if the action was simulated, it was excellently 
well performed. 

Then she raised herself to her full height, and 
stood before her husband. “ Art thou satisfied, 
Pontius?” she whispered. 

“A thousandfold, thou one woman in the world,” 
he answered ; and he made as though he would 
repeat his caresses, but she fell back, and regarded 
him doubtfully. 

“ I have been foolish to pay thus in advance,” she 
said ; “ I should have withheld the price until the 
promise was granted.” 

“ Dost thou dare insult me with doubt ? ” cried 
Pilate, in affected anger. “ Have I not given thee 
my oath, nay, more, my word ? The slave is already 
acquitted.” 

“ When is the trial, Pontius ? ” 

“ To-morrow,” he replied. 

“ Do not deceive me, Roman,” Euphrosyne ex- 
claimed earnestly. “ I feel as if life and death 
between us hangs upon thy faith. Beware ! beware ! 
how thou breakest thy word.” 

“It is thou who art breaking thy wife’s bargain, 
by doubting me, Claudia,” was Pilate’s jesting re- 
joinder ; and then he went away, leaving with 
Euphrosyne a security which has now and then 
proved worthless — viz., “a man’s promise to a 
woman.” 

When Sappho rejoined her mistress after Pilate’s 
departure she found her sitting in an attitude of deep 
dejection, and soon learnt what had passed between 
her and the Roman governor. 


124 


Sbe Stanbs Blotte 


“ I do not trust him, O my friend,” said Euphro- 
syne, “ and something weighs upon me that this 
affair will bring misfortune.” 

“ Thou judgest my lord too hardly, lady,” said 
Sappho. “ He is not all evil, and his love for thyself 
as well as his fear of thy displeasure will keep him 
to his word.” 

I doubt it, my friend. His love for me is real 
and strong when with me. I influence him when 
present as easily as I make an impression upon 
water, but when the pressure is removed, it, like water, 
returns again to its own level, and the next touch 
of self-interest, policy, or bribes, will, if absent from 
me, efface my power over my husband.” 

Euphrosyne was right. Every possible pressure 
was put upon Pilate by the Roman colony of 
Caesarea to condemn the slave. It was represented 
to him that, unless an example was made, the future 
relations of master and servant would be impossible. 
Then the threat of an appeal to Caesar, which rarely 
failed to subdue the governor, was resorted to, and 
finally a heavy secret bribe from the master of the 
criminal prevailed, and the perjured husband and 
unjust judge forgot his wife, his oath, and his honour. 
The slave was condemned, and, lest the fickle Pilate 
should relent, or his wife interfere, was immediately 
executed. 

It was several days before Pilate had the courage to 
visit Euphrosyne. He had often returned the violence 
of his first wife Valeria in kind, and their quarrels 
would end in the not uncommon way of matrimonial 
ones — in an armed truce — and he had treated with 
indifference the weeping appeals of the soft Claudia 
Procula ; but his apprehensions from Euphrosyne were 


B Broken promise 


125 


quite different from his intercourse with these two 
ladies, whom he had designated, it may be remem- 
bered, as a “ fury and a fool.” 

Pilate quailed before the quiet scorn and contempt 
with which Euphrosyne received him. As she was 
the loveliest woman, so she was the first actress in the 
world, and it needed no w r ords to appal Pilate as he 
looked upon those eyes, those lips, that attitude of 
condemnation. 

He, the governor and the husband, who could 
scourge, imprison, divorce, nay slay, the woman and 
the wife before him, was stricken in her presence 
beyond the power of uttering one word. 

At last she broke the silence. “ Thou hast deceived 
me, Pontius. In consideration of thy noble return for 
the wrong I did thee I will this time overlook thy 
perjury ; but if thou carest for my remaining thy 
wife, take heed how thou betrayest me a second time, 
for, mark me well, I will never give thee a third 
opportunity.” 

Pilate was about to remonstrate or plead ; but she 
left the apartment ere he could speak, with a glow of 
wrath upon her cheek, and a hard look in eye and on 
lip that boded ill for their future peace. 

In this dangerous condition of feeling a perilous 
temptation nearly came across the path of 
Euphrosyne’s life. 

By a singular irony of fate, Aurelius the centurion 
had, shortly after the abduction of his bride, been 
ordered to Palestine. He and his band were destined 
to the town of Caesarea ; but Pilate had been informed 
of this fact in time to obtain his kinsman’s transfer to 
Galilee, and he was stationed at Capernaum. The 
secrecy of Pilate’s marriage, and the change of his 


126 


©be Stanbs Blotte 


Greek wife’s name into that of the divorced Roman 
one, had prevented suspicion and curiosity ; and 
Aurelius had no idea that Euphrosyne was so near, 
or that it was Pilate, his own kinsman, who had acted 
so treacherously by him ; and, in consequence of the 
enmity between Pilate and King Herod, very little was 
known at the vice-regal court of Caesarea and Jerusalem 
of the jurisdiction of Herod. For these same reasons 
Euphrosyne was also in ignorance of Aurelius’ 
proximity. 

The heart-stricken man had found balm, if not 
entire healing, for his wound. He had not been long 
in Galilee ere he turned from his dumb idols to serve 
the one living God. He threw in his lot with the 
people chosen by Jehovah, loved them as his own 
countrymen, built them a synagogue, became a pro- 
selyte of the gate, and devoutly followed the moral 
and ceremonial law of the books of Moses. 

Then came the advent of the “ Light of the world,” 
and Aurelius at once followed its leading. He saw, 
heard, and believed that this Man, who spake as never 
man spake, was the Son of God. 

In his profound humility he became a silent, and, 
as he judged himself, an unworthy disciple ; and he 
made no public sign until his beloved Marcus fell 
ill of his dangerous palsy. Then Jesus of Nazareth 
passed by. What need to recall the story. They 
found the servant whole that had been sick. 

Belief in the affinities would have been shaken by 
the fact that Aurelius had turned away his head 
indifferently as the open litter of Euphrosyne once 
passed him in the streets of Jerusalem, at the same 
time that the occupant averted her face shiveringly 
as she caught a side glance of the armour of a Roman 


H JBrofeen promise 127 

centurion, which revived such a sad memory of the 
past. 

“ Look yonder,” observed a friend who was with 
him ; “ there goes the lady Claudia, the most beautiful 
woman in the world, the wife of the governor Pontius, 
whom they say she turns round her finger. Art thou 
made of stone, man, that thou turnest away ? Thou 
wilt never see another like her.” 

But Aurelius did not look ; his heart was sore at the 
remark. He had, to his joy and his sorrow, already 
seen the most beautiful woman in the world, and did 
not believe in another ; and, if he did, he cared not 
for her. 

The depression that had come to Euphrosyne since 
her husband’s deception, increased to such a degree 
that Sappho became alarmed, and cast about in her 
mind for some means of dispersing it. 

The same day that the centurion and the governor’s 
wife so unconsciously passed one another, the freed- 
man of the one and the freedwoman of the other met 
in the streets of the city ; and from Marcus Sappho 
learnt that the freedman’s master was in Jerusalem, 
and, reckless of consequences, she determined to 
bring about an interview between her mistress and 
the Roman soldier. Any means to rouse her precious 
foster-child would be justified by the end, and if that 
was successful — with the fates be any other result. 

“ Is the noble Greek lady thou served alive, freed- 
woman ? ” inquired Marcus. 

“ Yes, I believe so ; nay, I know it,” was Sappho’s 
cautious reply. 

“Is she well and — happy ? ” was the next query, 
hesitatingly spoken. 

“ When I last saw her — yes,” was the answer, also 


128 


Sbe Stanbs Blone 


hesitatingly given. “ But why dost thou care to ask 
of her welfare? Doubtless, like most other men, 
either from absence or fickleness, thy lord has 
already forgotten the Maid of Athens, and has con 
soled himself elsewhere.” 

" No,” said Marcus sadly, “ the noble Aurelius 
is not the man either to forget or change. It is 
true he has found consolation ; but it is not, as thou 
seemest to imply, from another woman. Yet he will 
be glad to hear the lady Euphrosyne is well, for, 
believe me, she will never cease to be to him the 
woman only upon this earth.” 

“Then let me give him tidings of her myself, 
freedman. I can tell him at first-hand what thou 
mightest forget, or unmeaningly falsify at second.” 

A quick distrust came to Marcus. 

“ Stay, freedwoman,” he interposed. “ Is it well 
to rekindle fires smouldering in their ashes? The 
noble lady is, we were given to understand, married. 
Spare my master the pain and danger of stirring 
them up, for he belongs now to a religion which 
forbids one man to take another’s wife.” 

“ Thou hast a high opinion of thy master’s honour,” 
returned the disappointed Sappho, “and a low one 
of his strength, thus to mistrust him ! ” 

“ Perchance I do distrust my lord’s strength, and 
fear for his honour, woman ; and therefore I would 
spare him a combat in which few men come off 
victor — the conflict with his own passions.” 

“ Truly,” sneered Sappho, “ the times are upside 
down when the servant is to be the judge and 
guide of his master’s steps. I should not have 
guessed that the brave Aurelius needed the rod and 
staff of a shepherd like thyself, Marcus.” 


129 


H Broken promise 

“ I am justly rebuked,” said Marcus. “ I have no 
right to mistrust my lord, or to meddle with his 
affairs. He must order his own goings. We are 
now close to our lodgings. I expect him in shortly. 
If it please thee, thou canst wait and speak to him 
thyself.” 

“ I thank thee, Roman,” she replied. “ Believe me 
all will be well. Men are weak, I know, when a 
beautiful and loved woman is in question ; but thou 
must remember that the Maid of Athens wore the 
white robe of a stainless life amidst the soiled 
garments of the hetaerae, and where the woman scorns 
to tempt it mostly follows the man is safe ! ” 

“ Let us hope all will turn out well,” responded 
Marcus dubiously. “ Stand here within the porch, 
freedwoman, and thou canst not miss my noble 
master.” 

As Sappho stood impatiently watching in the 
porch, the gilded litter of the bold, handsome Herodias, 
surrounded with all the pomp of heralds, horsemen, 
and gaily dressed attendants, passed along the street. 

Sappho forgot her foster-child, the centurion and 
Marcus, at this sight. Her tirewoman’s instincts 
were engrossed by the sight of the jewels and 
brocades, of the showy woman who was beaming 
with delight, at the gaping admiration of the 
gathering crowd following her progress. The cortege 
passed along before her, and entered a cross street, 
and Sappho, fascinated by the sight, went after it 
for some distance, and soon losing her way, became 
entangled in a labyrinth of narrow passages ; and it 
was nearly three hours before she regained the 
centurion’s lodgings, to find that he and his servant 
had paid their reckoning and had departed. 


9 


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The fact was that Herod, then at Jerusalem, having 
received news of some Galilean disturbances, had sent 
for Aurelius, and arranged for his immediate return to 
Capernaum. 

With wise discretion neither Marcus nor Sappho 
gave any hint of their interview to Aurelius or 
Euphrosyne. 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE MAN OF SORROWS 
HE greatest Passover ever held by the Hebrew 



-L people was at hand. The Lamb destined 
from the foundation of the world to be slain for the 
sins of its inhabitants was about to be sacrificed. 
Its type, the Paschal feast, that preceded the great 
midnight death-cry of stricken Egypt, was to vanish 
into the substance. The final atonement was now 
to be offered up. 

From north and from south, from east and from 
west, devout Jews gathered to the Holy City. The 
throngs were greater than when the posts went out 
to call the tribes together to the great Passover of 
King Josiah. 

Pilate and the lady Claudia had, as usual, come up 
from their palace at Caesarea for the great festival. 
It was expedient, on many accounts, that the governor 
should be in Jerusalem on these occasions, partly as 
a mark of respect to the nation, and partly to pre- 
serve the peace of the crowded city. 

Euphrosyne had been strangely unhappy and 
nerve-strained during this holy week now drawing 
towards its close ; and on the eve preceding our Good 
Friday she was more than ever depressed and 
suffering 


* 3 * 


Sbe Stanfcs Blotte 


“ Sappho,” she said, “ I wish I had insisted upon 
remaining behind at Caesarea. It seems to me that 
Nemesis is hovering angrily over this noisy city, and 
that I am enveloped in its awful cloud.” 

The governor had sent a message to his wife 
earlier in the day that he would sup with her. 
Euphrosyne, among other influences over her 
husband, had not neglected the pleasures of the 
table. Some of the first cooks in Rome had been 
sent over for her service, and Pilate often declared 
after a petit souper in his wife’s apartments that Caesar 
might have envied the viands. 

The slaves were busy preparing the feast in the 
next apartment, separated only by half-opened 
curtains, when Pilate hurriedly entered. 

“ I am come for a few minutes to bid thee good- 
night, my queen,” he explained, “ and to ask pardon 
for my absence from thy supper, for I have accepted 
Herod’s invitation to sup with him.” 

“ With Herod ! ” exclaimed Euphrosyne in a sur- 
prised tone. “ Why, Pontius, it was only this morning 
that thou and he were in deadly enmity.” 

“True, but we are reconciled now. It seemed like 
a sudden fate, or rather a good gift from the gods, 
that prompted Herod to represent to me the folly 
of quarrelling, when our interests were not only the 
same but so closely bound up together. Wilt thou 
come with me, Claudia ? Herodias has a supper also 
with her ladies, and greatly she desires thy friend- 
ship. Pray come ; thy doing so would strengthen 
our own.” 

“ No,” replied his wife, “ I do not love Herodias. 
She is but a titled hetaera, and I had enough of such 
at Athens ; besides, although I am not positively 


ZTbe /Iban of Sorrows 


133 

ill, I am wretchedly restless to-night, and am only 
fit for the company of my women.” 

“ As thou wilt,” returned the governor, looking 
with astonishment at the dazzling increase of his 
wife’s beauty, with which it seemed some high excite- 
ment had inspired her. “ Claudia, he cried, “ I would 
rather stay with thee than sup with Augustus ! ” 

Euphrosyne took no notice of this speech. She 
was standing in a listening attitude at the casement, 
which she had opened. 

“ Listen ! come here,” she cried impatiently. 
“ What is this tumult in the streets, Pontius ? ” 

“ How should I know ?” said Pilate half contemptu- 
ously. “ There is nothing but tumults day and night 
at feast times with these riotous people. We have 
to shut our eyes to a great deal at these seasons, 
when the fanatics celebrate the festivals of their 
superstition. Jerusalem is choked with strangers, 
and we dare not strain authority at these times.” 

“They seem to be dragging some victim to the 
high priest’s palace. Who is it, Pontius ?” 

“ I cannot tell thee,” he replied indifferently. “ Some 
offender, probably, who has picked up a stick on their 
Sabbath, and completed the enormity by carrying it 
on that day ; or possibly partaken of a lamb with 
a spot upon its forehead. Let the upstart Caiaphas 
and his bigoted priests look to it. It is no business 
of mine.” 

“No business of thine?” repeated Euphrosyne 
sharply. “If thou wouldst listen thou couldst hear 
the cry, ‘Crucify Him!’ None but the Roman 
governor can give authority for this brutal punish- 
ment of thy nation, Pilate.” 

The governor looked furious at this fling at his 


l 34 


Sbe Stanbs Blotte 


country, but perceiving that his wife was indifferent 
to his wrath, he changed the subject. 

“ I must quit thee now, queen of my soul ! ” he 
said. “ It is like tearing myself asunder to leave 
thee,” and he approached to embrace his wife ; but 
she drew herself coldly back, saying, — 

“Give me deeds, not words, Pontius. Keep thy 
promises to me, or keep thy kisses to thyself,” she 
added bitterly. 

“ Still harping on that wretched slave, Claudia,” he 
exclaimed reproachfully. “ What can I do to wipe 
this error off thy memory?” 

“ Keep thy word for the future, Pontius.” 

“ Nay ; let me rather grant thee a gift.” 

“I will take thy offer,” she replied. “Grant me 
the life of the next criminal brought before thee ; 
ay, even if it be the poor hunted one now followed 
by the rabble. Yes, the next criminal, even if he be 
the brutal murderer Barabbas, who beat the defence- 
less, blind old man to death, and stabbed the babe in 
its mother’s arms. Give me this boon, husband — the 
next, the very next prisoner brought before thee. 
Give me but this, I say, and, Pontius, I swear it, 
that from henceforth I will be a wife to give thee 
love for love, and never more reproach thee.” 

Pilate was carried away by the vehement intensity 
of her speech and mien. The Delphic Pythoness 
could not be more inspired, he thought ; and in the 
midst of her passion there was a something encom- 
passing it akin to divinity. 

“ Thy request is granted, wife,” he answered, in a 
hoarse whisper, for he could scarcely command his 
speech. “ The next prisoner brought before me is 
pardoned for thy sake, whoever and whatever his 


Ube flban of Sorrows 


I 3S 

crime may be. This time I swear in earnest to 
thee, by the gods, by Caesar, on my honour as a 
Roman, from the high priest to the beggar, he shall 
be free.” 

“ Take heed that thou break not this thy second 
oath to me, Pontius,” she said in a low, solemn voice. 

“ I swear to thee, this third time, Claudia, that the 
next criminal brought before me, be he guilty or be 
he innocent, shall be thine, not mine.” Pilate uttered 
these words in as solemn a tone as hers, and as he 
did so meant sincerely what he said. Then a short 
silence, almost as solemn, was kept by both. 

It was broken at length by Pilate. “ Now give 
me a farewell embrace,” he said, “ and I am gone.” 

“ Not again beforehand,” she answered. 

“Then I will take what thou wilt not give, my 
Claudia ; ” and he kissed her on forehead, eyes, cheek, 
and lips. 

At the door he turned to look at her once more, 
and there was a something he saw in her face and 
bearing which thrilled him with a strange forebod- 
ing fear. 

Look thy full and thy last, Pilate, upon thy stolen 
wife. Look with a vain longing for the love that 
will never more be thine ; for from henceforth 
Euphrosyne will be to thee as a stranger, and thy 
perjury towards her will be but a prelude to thy 
lasting shame. 

“ Bring me water and linen, Sappho.” 

Euphrosyne dipped the towel in the cool rose- 
scented liquid, and somewhat violently rubbed her 
face on the places where Pilate’s lips had pressed, 
until they flamed like fire. “ Would I could loose 


1 3 6 


Sbe Stanbs Blone 


my bonds as easily as I efface their signs,” she 
remarked with an angry sigh. 

“ We all have our chains,” replied Sappho, “ and 
must bear them as best we may. We can only 
shift their burden, not remove it.” 

“ But some are heavier to bear than others, O my 
friend ; and at times they gall somewhat less upon 
those who carry them, and at others press more 
oppressively upon their spirit.” 

“ I believe the gods balance each mortal’s chain 
to the same weight,” said Sappho ; “ only some are 
stronger to bear and some are more impatient, and 
so feel them more or less heavily.” 

“ Perhaps so ; I am just now sinking beneath mine. 
How cold it is ! I shiver, Sappho.” 

The latter called a slave, who filled a brazier with 
sandal and cedar-wood, which, when lighted, filled 
the chamber with a delicious perfume. 

“ Oh, now I am too hot. What has come to me ? 
Open the casement. No, do not ; I shall hear the 
cruel mob cries of this savage people. I am strangely 
weak, even to faintness, Sappho. The fate of that 
captive is preying upon my spirit. Take off my 
garments, and I will lie upon the bed, and send me 
a minstrel to divert my distress.” 

A Greek girl, possessing a lovely soprano voice of 
perfect training, came in with a lute in her hand, and 
sat down by the bedside. 

“ Shall I sing a song of love to Aphrodite, most 
excellent lady ? ” she softly whispered. 

There was no answer, and the maiden trilled forth 
in notes stolen from the nightingale an amorous ditty 
to the goddess of love. 

Euphrosyne showed signs of restlessness during the 


Ubc Man of Sorrows 


137 


performance, and when it was finished said gently, 
“ Thou hast excelled thyself, minstrel, in skill and 
sweetness, but I am scarcely in tune for Aphrodite’s 
lovesick strains. I will not fatigue thee any more 
to-night.” 

The singer rose, bent low, and left the room. 

“ Fetch me Miriam, the Hebrew minstrel, Sappho. 
My countrywoman’s voice and execution is wonder- 
ful, but there is no more expression in her lay than 
in a stone image, and too sweet a voice clogs like 
honey. Miriam’s low, deep expressive notes, singing 
the songs of Zion, will please me better.” 

The Hebrew maiden entered without delay. She 
held a harp against her shoulder, and took the seat 
vacated by the Greek songstress. 

“ Wilt thou hear the holy chaunts of our great king, 
David, most excellent lady, or the triumphant song 
of our women over the proud, drowned Egyptians ? ” 

“No,” interrupted Euphrosyne, " I am in no mood 
either for devotional praise or the choruses of vic- 
tory. Sing to me from the oracles of that prophet 
who spoke of a man despised, persecuted, forsaken, 
slaughtered, like as it may be to the One now 
maltreated in the streets of this city.” 

“I know,” murmured Miriam; “it is He of whom 
Esaias speaks,” and tuning her harp for a minute or 
two, she began softly, gradually swelling into a strain 
resembling the notes and stops of an organ. It was 
grand, yet infinitely touching, and Euphrosyne raised 
herself on the couch to listen, with one hand uplifted 
and the forefinger of the other resting on her lower 
lip, as one entranced. 

“ He was despised and rejected of men. A Man of 
Sorrows, and acquainted with grief,” sang Miriam, 


Sbe Stanbs Hlonc 


138 

herself so carried away with the intensity of her 
musical temperament and the mournful meaning of 
the inspired prophecy, that she poured forth her 
whole soul in voice, expression, and accompaniment. 

Her voice was a magnificent contralto, and, like 
the young Greek’s, had been excellently well trained ; 
but in a different fashion, for whereas the soprano 
was practised in trills, runs, and shakes, the contralto 
was cultivated in long-sustained tones, in dying falls 
and capability of expression. To Euphrosyne, herself 
a perfect mistress of declamation and scenic power, 
the effect was enthralling, and she forgot everything 
but the singer and her words. 

Miriam was the daughter of a Levite of the Temple 
choirs, and her musical abilities had been cultivated 
almost from infancy. 

“ Again, child, again ! ” murmured the lady. “ Sing 
of the Man of Sorrows once more, the Man ac- 
quainted with grief. Ah, I have been a woman 
of sorrows, and am also well acquainted with grief. 
Sing those words, that title again, and again, and 
again,” she added breathlessly. 

Encouraged by this flattering praise, Miriam re- 
commenced the sentence, and surpassed herself in 
expression and melody. Her voice appeared to calm 
and soothe the unquiet spirit of Euphrosyne, who 
lay back upon the pillows of her couch and closed 
her eyes, softly speaking in broken words from time 
to time, “ The Man of Sorrows. The Man of 
Sorrows ; ” and she fell asleep with the last word 
hovering upon her lips. 

At a sign from Sappho Miriam stole softly away ; 
at a silent summons a slave appeared, who, with 
trained quiet service, drew double curtains over case- 


Ube /IDan of Sorrows 


139 


ments and doors, renewed the wood in the brazier, 
shaded the lamps, and retired as noiselessly as she 
had entered and moved. 

Not only within the bedchamber but in the palace 
a perfect stillness reigned, save for the muffled echoes 
of the street cries. “ The lady Claudia sleeps,” was 
whispered, and all sounds were hushed. 


CHAPTER XIV 


EUPHROSYNE’S DREAM 

T HE wife of Pilate slept, and this was the dream 
unfolded to her. 

She was standing in the midst of an immense 
plain, vast as a sea without an horizon. It was as if 
the whole world had been rolled into a level surface, 
boundless and unending. At first she thought herself 
alone, but gradually her sight grew so keen she 
could distinctly see to the farthest limits of the 
mighty waste. She perceived that it was covered 
with countless numbers of people, in crowds, groups, 
and solitary figures, and from them all incessant cries 
ascended — shouts of battle, laughter of revels and 
feasts, voices of wrangling, of love, and of hate. 

Two peculiarities struck Euphrosyne. Of all these 
multitudes — with one exception — not one living being 
stood upright. Some were lying down, others sitting, 
a few half-reclining ; and she noticed that underlying 
every sound which arose, yea, even from the revellers, 
there echoed a note of indescribable anguish, of 
lamentation, mourning, and woe. 

The exception alluded to among this prostrate 
population was the solitary figure of a Man, who 
stood motionless in the centre of the plain. 

Euphrosyne fearlessly approached Him. She beheld 

140 


iSupbrosyne’s Bream 14 1 

a Man — young, to judge from feature and form — and 
yet with so unutterable an expression of sadness upon 
the one, and so heavy a weight of burden upon the 
other, that the beholder would suppose double the 
apparent term of years had passed over Him. At 
the same time there was a majesty on His face and 
a dignity in His bearing such as Euphrosyne had 
never before seen in any living man. 

“ O Master,” — she addressed Him by the title she 
considered the highest of any, the same she called 
the wise men of Greece who had taught her, bending 
low as she spoke and folding her arms across her 
bosom — “ what is Thy name ? ” 

“ I am the Man of Sorrows, Euphrosyne,” He 
answered, “ and upon Me is laid the sin and the woe 
of this suffering world.” 

“ I see no suffering,” she replied. 

“ It is surrounding thee as the air ; it cumbers the 
ground ; it cries for help. Thine eyes are blind ; 
thine ears are deaf; thy heart is too cold to feel, 
because thou hast no love, Euphrosyne.” 

“ Then give me love, O Master,” entreated Euphro- 
syne, bowing in lowlier reverence than before. 

It seemed to her that the Man of Sorrows stooped 
and breathed upon her, and that suddenly her eyes, 
ears, and heart were opened, and she saw, heard, and 
felt as if every nerve of her body had become a sense ; 
moreover, a love entered her being such as she had 
never before experienced even for Aurelius, but of 
a different nature and ten thousand times more 
intense, which covered her as with a raiment, sur- 
rounded her with sunlight, and overflowed her as 
by a river. 

“ Master ! Master ! ” she cried in the ecstasy of 


i42 Sbe Stanbs Hlotte 

her rapture, “ tell me how I can best show my 
love.” 

He pointed to a group of starving children close 
by, who were clamouring for food. “ Give them to 
eat,” He said. 

“ There is no bread here in this desert waste,” she 
answered hesitatingly. 

“ If love rules thee thou wilt seek and find it, 
daughter.” 

The great new-born love in her heart brought 
forth faith. She looked carefully around, and saw 
at some distance a basket half buried in the sand. 
She went up to it, and found it full of loaves and 
fruit, which she at once bore to the hungering little 
ones, and their eager delight filled her with a joy she 
had never before felt in her life. 

Then she returned to the Man of Sorrows, and 
stood meekly and silently before Him, awaiting 
further commands. 

He waved His hand towards a distant battle-field, 
where victory and defeat had just played their bloody 
parts, and from whence agonised cries in many 
tongues were borne to them for “ Water ! water ! 
water ! ” 

“ Give them to drink, Euphrosyne,” said the Man 
of Sorrows. 

She asked no question now as to where she could 
obtain water, but went her way and examined among 
the rocks ; and at last, between two overhanging ones, 
she found a fountain of cool pure water. An empty 
pitcher lay by it. This she filled, and poising it on 
her head, she carried it to the wounded men, holding 
the ever full vessel to each man’s mouth as she 
passed, and letting them drink their fill ; and so she 


lEupbrossrte’s Bream 


143 


went on until every living man had quaffed without 
stint, and blessed her as she passed. 

Euphrosyne did not wonder that the pitcher was 
never empty, or that the time of serving this great 
fallen army was no longer than if she had ministered 
to one man. Nothing surprised her. 

Once more she stood in humble patience before 
the Man of Sorrows. “ What would’st thou more, O 
Master, that I can do for Thee ? ” 

“ Dost not thine own love tell thee, daughter, that 
there are still the naked to be clothed, the sick to be 
ministered to, the prisoners to be visited? Go thy 
way, thy work is not yet ended.” 

She meekly went her way, and as she went 
she clothed the travellers who had fallen among 
thieves, dressed the sores of the beggars, spoke 
comforting words to the widows and orphans, and 
standing outside the prison bars cried to those 
within that the year of Jubilee was at hand ; and 
now for the third time she returned to the Man of 
Sorrows. 

“ I have done all that Thou hast commanded, O 
Master,” she said, “ and now wilt Thou not grant 
that I may minister unto Thyself?” 

He shone upon her with a smile of holy love 
and approval as He answered, “ Euphrosyne, in that 
thou hast done these services to those whom I came 
to save, thou hast done it unto Myself.” 

He raised His hands over her lowly bending head, 
as in the act of blessing, and when she again looked 
up, the Man of Sorrows had vanished from her sight. 

Euphrosyne stirred on the couch. Sappho was 
instantly at her side ; and by the lowered light saw 
upon the lovely face of the sleeping woman a peace 


144 


Sbe Stanbs Hlone 


so perfect, a joy so complete, a love so estatic, that 
the foster-mother went back to her mat at the~ 
curtained' doo^, whispering as she went, — 

“ She is surely dreaming of the centurion.” 

But Euphrosyne was no areaming of the centurion. 

She did not awake, and after a short pause the 
dream continued. 

She was again standing upon the immeasurable 
plain, but the scene was changed. The multitudes 
who before were reclining on the ground, were now 
standing upon their feet, and were gathered round 
the same central figure, “ the Man of Sorrows.” The 
cries they now uttered were not those of anguish 
and pain, but demoniac howls of hate and malice. 
They had not stayed at verbal insult, but had laid 
hands upon His person, and He stood wounded and 
weak at their mercy. Euphrosyne, ever roused to 
indignation at the sight of injustice and cruelty, 
was almost maddened now, when she saw that this 
brutal herd who were rushing upon the Man of 
Sorrows, and crying for His blood, and heaping 
upon Him the vilest indignities, were the very same 
people to whom He had bade her minister as to 
Himself. 

She saw, too, with wrathful sco.n, that the vile 
rabble who were foremost in the attack were goaded 
on by the great ones of the earth, by crowned kings, 
high officials, and white-robed priests ; and looking 
around, she could not discover one single being 
amongst the throngs who came forward to stand 
up for Him. 

In the strong impulse of her holy anger she 
sprang to the side of the Man of Sorrows, and 


Eupbrosgne’s Dream 145 

stretched forth her arms to ward off the half- 
fiendish, half-brutal crowd. “ Back ! back ! ” she 
cried. “ Touch Him not. He hath done you good, 
and not evil. Bring not His innocent blood upon 
your heads. Let Him be.?’ v 

But they heeded not the appeal. They pressed 
sore upon her, to drag her away. She tore herself 
free and cried, — 

“ Who among you all is for the right ? Let him 
come forth and help me.” 

For an instant the mob was overborne by her 
splendid courage, marvellous beauty, and magnificent 
declamation ; but not one of all their number 
answered her challenge. 

She turned in her despair to the Man of Sorrows 
Himself. “ Oh, canst Thou not save Thyself, Thou 
who surely must be a God and not a man ? ” she 
implored. “See I, and I alone, am with Thee, and 
I am helpless.” 

Then for the first time He spoke. 

“ Euphrosyne, look upward ! ” 

Her eyes were opened, and in an access of astonished 
awe she shaded them with her hand as she obeyed 
the command. The whole sky above was filled by 
a mighty army of glorious warriors, with forms of 
such stature, pov\^r, and beauty, as in her wildest 
imaginings she had never pictured ; and above them 
all brooded an invisible, yet felt, presence, such as 
might have represented the Unknown God whom 
she had sought in her blindness. 

She closed her eyes for a second or two, and looked 
again at the terrible yet enthralling sight. She gazed 
in awestruck fear at the cavalry of flame, the chariots 
of fire, the countless battalions of winged soldiers, 

10 


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Sbe Stanbs Hlone 


glittering like gold and silver in the light, with their 
swords and lances of lightning, and at the bands of 
the archangels, holding the trumpets ready to sound 
to the battle. Motionless as death they waited for 
the word of command to descend upon the morsels 
of flesh and souls of sin who represented the humanity 
of this fallen earth. 

Euphrosyne’s knees smote together. No words 
of the world’s languages could express the grandeur, 
terror, and splendour of this celestial army. Her 
pulses stopped, and she gasped rather than asked, 
“ Are they on Thy side, O Master? ” 

“They are My Father’s legions,” He replied. 
“ One sign, and they are here.” 

“ Oh, call them down,” she cried. “ Nay,” as He 
did not answer, “ I must cry to them if Thou art 
dumb. Bid them descend.” 

“Euphrosyne,” He replied, pointing to the infuri- 
ated multitudes, “ if they descend all these whom J 
came to save must perish.” 

“ Let them perish,” she cried passionately. And 
then she looked up to call down the legions of light ; 
but her eyes were holden now, and she saw them 
no more. 

Some of the crowd now brought a hideous beam 
of wood, with a transverse piece near the top, and 
they laid it on the ground, a mallet and nails by 
the side ; and Euphrosyne knew at once that this 
was the horrid instrument of death with which the 
cruel Romans tortured their criminals to death. 

“ This shall not be,” she cried, throwing herself 
upon the cross, and clinging with her arms to the 
thwart beam. The mob beat her as she lay, and tore 
her garments from her, as they forced her crushed, 





EUPHROSYNE S DREAM 















. 






147 


Eupbros^ne’s H>ream 

bleeding fingers from their hold ; and then they flung 
her roughly at the feet of the Man of Sorrows. 

She half raised herself and cried, “ If I cannot save 
Thee, I will die with Thee, O Master.” 

“ The time will come when thou shalt die for Me, 
Euphrosyne,” He said. “ Until then be not afraid. 
Thy name is already written in the books of Heaven.” 

Then the savage people seized the Man of Sorrows, 
nailed Him to the accursed tree, and raised it with 
a jerk into the prepared place ; and Euphrosyne 
uttered a great cry, and saw no more. 

Sappho started up. “ Ah, Zeus, that cry ! ” It was 
the echo, she remembered, of the one Irene gave 
when she yielded up her life for her child. 

The cry had not awakened the utterer. She was 
restless for a minute or two, and then fell again into 
deep sleep. Her dream was not yet finished. 

For the third time she stood upon the interminable 
space, whose immensity was increased by the addition 
of the sea, which, like the land, was of an extent 
without limit. She perceived now that it was abso- 
lutely deserted, not a living creature was upon it. 
Suddenly a winged form of godlike stature and 
aspect appeared, filling the whole height between 
heaven and earth, and, standing with one foot on the 
land and the other on the sea, sounded a trumpet, 
the sound of which filled the whole world, and he 
cried in a voice clear and resounding as many 
thunders, — 

“ Earth, bring forth ! Sea, yield up thy dead ! ” 

At this dread summons the earth with one mighty 
heave rolled back in wide, deep, undulating ridges, 
the sea opened its yawning jaws, and the countless 


148 


Sbe Stanbs Blone 


myriads of the forgotten dead came forth. The dust 
of the buried, the ashes of the burned, the sodden 
bones of the drowned arose in the fleshly covering 
they had borne on earth, not shrouded or naked, but 
in the raiment they had worn in life. 

Rising up, on they came. Not one was left behind. 
No man could number them, no, not if he gave a 
unit to a million, could he count the tale in his 
lifetime. The crust of the earth appeared to have 
been lifted off, and all beneath was revealed to view. 

Yet there was no jostling, no crowding. As each 
arose, on the same spot he stood and stopped. 
Every one occupied his appointed place, and yet 
there was room. 

Euphrosyne felt no fear, nor any personal appre- 
hension at this dreadful sight. She felt only as a 
spectator of this terrific mortal earthquake would feel. 
She observed and marked everything, as if she had 
neither part nor lot in the matter. What struck her 
above all else was the utter silence which, since the 
blast of the archangel, hung over the scene. It was 
no ordinary stillness, but seemingly arose from absence 
of atmosphere, for upon each resurrected face every 
human passion and feeling was expressed, with an 
intensity that seemed longing to find relief in speech. 

On looking around more closely, she perceived that 
every man and woman was faced by a phantom, the 
exact double of him or herself, who stood holding a 
scroll before his or her prototype, upon which was 
written every deed done in the body good or bad by 
the person to whom it was presented ; and so absorbed 
and anxious was each one with its perusal, not one 
appeared concerned or curious about his neighbour. 

Suddenly, in the midst of this universal tribulation, 


JEupbrosgne's Dream 


149 


Euphrosyne’s attention was diverted to a great white 
throne placed in the centre of the plain, upon the 
exact spot where the Man of Sorrows had been 
martyred. It looked to Euphrosyne to be formed 
of consolidated light, and the steps and pavements 
shone with the dazzling reflection of the purest 
diamond, and upon the throne — was it, could it be ? 
Yea! He that sat upon it was in the likeness of the 
Man of Sorrows, yet in the semblance notwithstand- 
ing of an all-powerful God, upon whom she dared 
not again look. 

Then she saw in her wonderful dream that the 
heavens were opened above the throne, and radiant 
beings were descending and ranging themselves 
around and behind the awful Judge ; for such she felt 
the occupant of the seat must be. Her gaze was 
specially directed to a narrow wicket-gate at the 
right of the Judge, before which two angels of a more 
glorious appearance than the rest were standing, and 
towards which numbers of the risen dead were 
approaching. These came to the angel who stood 
a little in advance of the other, and prayed for 
admittance. 

The angel looked at the applicant’s forehead, and if 
there was a fair white seal upon it, and he or she 
could answer the password the angel alone could 
hear, and without which none could enter, the 
accusing scroll was taken from the phantom and given 
to the second angel, who plunged it into a blood -red 
fountain, from which it was drawn pure and white, 
with all evidence against the applicant destroyed. 
The second angel clothed the pardoned ones in white 
robes, opened the wicket, and bade them enter into 
the “ joy of their Lord.” 


5 be Stanbs Blorte 


* 5 ° 

By intuition, for Euphrosyne had never heard of 
such an event before, she now understood that the 
day of doom was come upon the earth, that its great 
assize was being held and that they that had done 
good and they that had done evil should all receive 
according to their works. 

Her eyes followed the way of the redeemed, and 
she saw in her dream that they passed under a wide 
portal of light, where she lost sight of them. 

Drawn by an irresistible impulse, Euphrosyne took 
a way that brought her near enough to this portal 
to look within. She saw a multitude there also that 
no man could number, and the glimpses she caught 
of them dazed her with delight and longing. Every 
breath, every touch of these saved ones, contained in 
them more rapture than would be felt on earth from 
the pleasures of the senses of a lifetime. All know- 
ledge was revealed, all were incessantly progressing. 
There was no possibility of sorrow, no touch of dis- 
appointment, only unfading youth, celestial health, and 
above all a soul filled with such all pervading love, 
it was for ever absorbing itself in the fulness of the 
love of God. 

Reluctantly she turned away, and wondered where 
the rejected ones went who had no seal upon their 
foreheads, no answering password on their lips, no 
accusing scroll effaced in the blood-red fountain, no 
white robes to clothe them. She saw at last a 
gloomy gate of darkness at the left of the throne, 
within which the banished ones disappeared. 

Urged by the same irresistible attraction, she 
made her way to this dismal entrance, and if the 
glimpse at the portal of light had filled her with 
rapturous delight, the revelation of this one of 


Bupforospne’s Bream 


151 

darkness fell upon her soul with the horror of 
unutterable despair. 

There they wandered, those lost spirits in their 
restored bodies ; tormented with human lusts that 
would never be gratified ; their minds torn by self- 
reproach, their souls steeped in a remorse that could 
never be lessened. The darkness, the pain, the 
material evils of chains and torture, the never dying 
worm and the everlasting flames, counted for nothing 
in this place of torment, which was the second 
death. 

In fearsome horror Euphrosyne turned away, and 
found herself close to the wicket-gate and its radiant 
guardians, to whom she presented herself for ad- 
mittance. Then suddenly she remembered, and 
raised her hand to her forehead. Alas ! there was 
no seal there. She tried to frame the answering 
password ; but either she had forgotten or had never 
learned it. The white robes and the portal of light 
were not for her. She thought the angel looked 
pityingly on her as, weeping, she turned away ; and 
weeping she awoke. 


CHAPTER XV 


"PONTIUS, WHAT HAST THOU DONE?” 

A T the sound of her foster-child’s weeping Sappho 
came for the third time to the bedside. 

“What ails thee, O loved one?” she tenderly- 
inquired. 

“ Where is my lord, Sappho ? Call him to me 
instantly,” she urged. 

The freed woman departed. In her haste she left 
the draperied doors open, and Euphrosyne heard 
much noise and disputing going on beyond them. 

Sappho soon returned. “ Where is my lord ? ” 
her mistress asked ; “ and what is going on amongst 
our people to cause such disturbance ? ” 

" My lord is on the judgment-seat, O lady, trying 
the very Prisoner thou pitied last night in the street ; 
and the people in our service are quarrelling about 
Him. Some say He is a good man, others that the 
priests are right to crush Him.” 

“ He is my prisoner, good or evil,” exclaimed 
Euphrosyne. “ Bring me my tablets, Sappho,” she 
continued. “ This Man has been revealed to me in 
a dream this night, and I must save Him.” 

Euphrosyne stepped down from her couch. 
Sappho placed the tablets of soft wax on a writing- 
table, with the style beside them. 

152 


“©ontius, Mbat ibast Ubou 2)one?” 153 


Then Euphrosyne wrote those eternal words, over- 
looked by Christians, but engraved in the records of 
the angels — words unique in their isolated sublimity 
of courage : — 

“Have thou nothing to do with this just Man, 
for I have suffered many things this day in a dream 
because of Him.” 

Then she added on another tablet : — 

“ Remember thy oath. This prisoner belongs to me. 

“Thy Wife.” 

“ Call me a trusty messenger, Sappho.” 

He came. 

“Take this to my lord the governor,” she said, 
“ and without a moment’s delay. Give it into his own 
hands, as thou valuest thy life, and bring me an 
answer from his lips or hand.” 

“ My lord is on the judgment-seat,” hesitated the 
messenger, “ and all the priests and people are before 
him. I dare not go, O lady.” 

“If he were on the throne of Rhadamanthus, in 
the realm of Plutus, slave, thou must deliver it, and 
at once. I promise to save thee from the wrath of 
the governor. Beware how thou incurrest mine.” 

The messenger departed with a great fear of the 
governor’s wife in his breast, and found Pilate 
alone in a room off the judgment-hall, whither he 
had retired in the perplexity between his conviction 
of the innocence of Jesus, a secret awe at the some- 
thing of divinity in the accused, and his fear of 
the Jews and their possible appeal to Caesar. The 
good that was in him was struggling hard with the 
evil, right and justice versus self-interest. 

The messenger from the lady Claudia was at once 


T 54 


Sbe Stanbs Hloite 


admitted ; and the moment was opportune. The 
words, “ He that delivered Me to thee hath the 
greater sin ” had greatly propitiated Pilate, and his 
wife’s appeal confirmed for the time the resolve of 
the governor to release Jesus. Therefore when the 
messenger ventured to request an answer for the 
lady Claudia, Pilate unhesitatingly — and, as he wrote 
it, sincerely — traced on the back of the tablet : — 

“ Thy intercession is granted. — PONTIUS.” 

A deep joy entered Euphrosyne’s bosom as she 
read these words. “ O Man of Sorrows, Master,” 
she murmured, “ I rejoice that Thou art saved.” 

The accused One before the judgment-seat heard 
these words, and accepted them. 

“ Now dress me in my finest Roman garments 
Sappho,” she said, “ and put the garish Roman armlets 
and jewelled tiara on my arms and head — these 
offend my Greek taste, but they please Pontius — and 
tell my people to prepare a feast such as my lord 
loves ; for my husband shall dine with me to-day, 
and shall find no marble wife to welcome and caress 
him. Sappho,” she went on, “ I would have given 
a thousand lives if I had them to have saved this 
innocent Man. Nurse ! mother ! what means this 
mystery that lies behind Him, or rather my interest 
in this wonderful Jew? My joy at His escape is 
actually akin to fear.” 

Sappho shook her head. She did not sympathise 
with, still less could she explain the mystery. 

“ Pontius shall never repent this favour,” continued 
Euphrosyne ; “ I will never forget it. From hence- 
forth I will strangle all thoughts of ‘ him ’ — ah, 
foster-mother, I dare not speak his name — as if 


“ Pontius, Mbat toast Bbou Bone?” 155 


they were serpents, and be a faithful and grateful 
wife to this Roman governor. His pardon of myself 
pales beside this boon.” 

Short-lived joy ! Before an hour had passed, the 
news of the condemnation of the Nazarene Prophet 
was brought to Euphrosyne, and it was some time 
before her stunned senses could believe, and then 
realise, the betrayal of justice and the perjury to 
herself that had been committed by her husband. 

“ Pontius, what hast thou done ? ” 

The governor was uneasily pacing to and fro the 
same private room in which he had received his wife’s 
message. He was endeavouring to convince himself 
that he had acted irresponsibly in yielding to the 
clamour of the Jews in releasing the infamous Barabbas 
and delivering the just Man to their will. 

He started at the question, and turned round to 
see Euphrosyne standing within the portiere of the 
door with a look of terror on her face and a pose of 
despair in her attitude which seemed to have frozen 
upon her, and he suddenly felt as if the current of 
his own veins ran ice. 

Now for the first time since he gave it did he recall 
his promised vow, for he had not noted the reminder 
on the second tablet. In the tumult and mental 
struggle his pledge to his wife had been forgotten, 
and he now saw that he had to reckon with a new and 
by no means an inconsiderable difficulty. 

In his uncertainty he advanced to her with arms 
outstretched. 

“ Claudia, beloved,” he began. 

But she flung out her hands, palms outward, to 
repel him. 


Sbe Stanbs Hlone 


156 

“ Touch me not,” she cried. “ The stain of innocent 
blood is upon thee, Pontius. I will not share in the 
pollution.” 

“ Nay, Claudia ; I swear by the gods that I had no 
choice in the matter. I, as a Roman governor, dared 
not interefere with the religion and customs of this 
people. The Jews had a right to choose their prisoner. 

I had no power to refuse.” 

“Thou hadst power to refuse acting the unjust 
judge ; thou hadst power to forbid the release of an 
assassin. There is no excuse, no escape, Pilate. What 
hast thou done ? ” 

She again repeated this question with such depth 
of intense feeling, such scorn and warning accusation 
in her voice, that Pilate turned cold, as though he 
had touched a corpse. 

“ They would have complained to Caesar, and 
wrought my ruin, Claudia,” he urged timidly. 

“ Oh, craven,” she answered, “ for such a shadow 
as Caesar hast thou wrought thine own doom ? Thou 
hast condemned a Greater than Caesar, Pontius. 
Couldst thou sit upon the throne of Augustus, the 
place would not weigh the worth of the dust in the 
balance compared to the price thou wilt have to pay 
for this day’s deed.” 

Pilate turned deadly white. His wife’s speech 
embodied his too late misgivings, and it sank like lead 
upon his heart. For the time he was under a super- 
natural spell of terror. His form shrank downwards, 
as if he feared that Nemesis was hovering over him. 
He turned behind to see if the rush of the avenging 
furies was at hand. Then he addressed Euphrosyne. 

“ Believe me I am innocent of the blood of this 
just Man, Claudia. I washed my hands of it in the 


“ Pontius, Mbat ibast ZTbou 2 >one?” 157 


presence of the priests and people, and they invoked 
and took upon themselves and on their children its 
merited vengeance.” 

“ Vain excuse this, Pontius,” she answered. 
“ Others may partake thy crime, others may share in 
its penalty ; but they no more remove the punish- 
ment from thee than they can shift it from them- 
selves. The water thou mingled with the blood 
will not wipe out the stain. Better for thee, Pontius, 
hadst thou never been born ere thou acted thus ; or 
being born, better had they told thy mother, ‘ Thou 
hast brought a man child into the world, and lo, he 
has never seen the light.’ Pontius, what hast thou 
done ? ” 

This was the third time his wife had uttered this 
question, and now it bore a despairing, even an awful 
ring, that echoed with a fearsome shudder through 
Pilate’s being. 

He was about to speak, when an interruption 
occurred by the entrance of an officer, sent by the 
centurion of the guard for the crucifixion of the con- 
demned, to obtain the accusation required to be 
affixed over the head of the executed criminal. 

“ The accusation ! ” exclaimed the bewildered 
governor. “ How can there be an accusation when 
the Man is innocent? ” 

“ Nevertheless, most excellent Pilate,” returned 
the officer, “it is against Roman law to execute a 
criminal without at the time publishing his crime.” 

“ I will write it,” said Euphrosyne, advancing to 
the table, on which lay scrolls of parchment smooth 
as vellum. She seated herself, and choosing one of the 
whitest and finest of these, drew towards her the iron 
pen and the ink laid ready for use, and then turning 


Sbe Stanbs Blone 


158 

to the officer she said, “Tell me the name of this 
unjustly condemned Man ? ” 

“Jesus, most excellent lady.” 

“ From whence comes He ? ” 

“ From Nazareth, a Galilean town” 

“Jesus of Nazareth,” softly repeated Euphrosyne in 
a tone of reverent tenderness, as if it were sweet to 
her lips to dwell upon it; “Jesus of Nazareth” she 
again said, as if loth to part with the words, this 
earthly name as she judged it to be of the “ Man of 
Sorrows.” 

After a short silence she inquired, — 

“ Of what did the priests and people falsely accuse 
this Man ? ” 

“ That He claimed without right to be the King of 
the Jews.” 

“ What He claimed to be He is,” said Euphro- 
syne ; and she wrote in deeply incised Greek char- 
acters and words, in a clear and beautiful hand, 
“ Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews.” 

Then she rose up, and handed the pen to Pilate. 
“ Write, lord governor,” she said, “ these same words 
above mine in Hebrew, that the regicides may know 
their crime, and in Latin below that the Romans 
may read their shame.” 

Mechanically Pilate took the pen from her, and 
wrote as Euphrosyne had directed, in Hebrew above 
and Latin below ; and when finished handed the 
superscription in silence to the officer. He then 
turned round to where his wife had been standing. 
She was gone. 

On reaching her apartments she called Sappho. 
“ Bring me the captain of the palace watch, instantly,” 
she ordered in a low, set voice. 



PONTIUS PILATE 
















































“Pontius, Mbat Ibast Uhow 2)one?” 159 

This man was notorious for his greed of money, 
and a desperate thought had entered Euphrosyne’s 
mind to make use of him. When he arrived, she 
took him into a small strong-room, where her gold 
and jewels were secured. 

Without word or greeting, she knelt beside an iron 
box, which she unlocked and opened, displaying to 
the covetous eyes of the soldier heaps of gold coin ; 
hundreds, nay, thousands, he judged were there. 

“ There is no time to lose,” whispered the governor’s 
wife. “ All the gold in this chest, and as much or 
more in these two on either hand, shall be thine, if 
thou wilt undertake for me a desperate service.” As 
she spoke she plunged her hand amongst the golden 
pieces, and, taking up a handful, let them fall between 
her fingers, the coins clashing and tinkling as they 
joined their fellows. 

The captain’s breath came quick at the sight. 
“ What desirest thou, lady ? ” he whispered hoarsely. 

“ I desire that thou intercept with thy soldiers the 
company attending Jesus of Nazareth to the cross, 
contrive a riot, pretend to quell it, and bear off the 
Prisoner. Captain, is this possible ? ” 

“ It is possible. But ” 

“Do not fear the governor,” interrupted Euphro- 
syne. “ He will pardon any attempt that does not 
compromise himself. But there is no time to parley. 

I will double, treble the reward, if thou succeedest.” 

“ Lady,” said the captain after a short pause of 
thought, “ if thou canst win the consent of the 
centurion of the crucifixion to this scheme, I will do 
thy bidding. If he is inflexible, as I fear he may be, 
the thing is impossible. A Roman soldier does not 
fight his comrades.” 


i6o 


Sbe Stance HI one 


“ Thou fearest,” remarked Euphrosyne, with slight 
scorn in her tone. 

“In a way I do fear,” he replied quietly. “The 
same fear as though thou bid’st me, lady, to charge 
an iron wall with my sword. In that case also I 
should repeat, ‘ The thing is impossible.’ ” 

“ I will see the centurion,” she said. 

“That will be well. With his consent this desire 
of thine, lady, can be accomplished. I am, in that 
case, thy servant in the affair, and the reward 
can be divided between us.” So the captain de- 
parted. 

As the centurion of the crucifixion was descending 
the steps of the palace, with the scroll of the accusa- 
tion in his hand, a slave whispered in his ear, “ The 
most excellent lady Claudia would speak with thee, 
noble Roman.” 

Time pressed, but it was a well-known risk to 
disobey the lady Claudia ; so the centurion followed 
the man to Euphrosyne’s apartment. 

She remarked the centurion’s impatience, and put 
forth all her magnetic power of fascination, which 
she knew rarely failed to subdue any man she cared 
to please ; and this one was at once charmed and 
captivated by the gracious bearing and enchanting 
smile with which she addressed him. 

“ I have sent for thee, noble centurion, to ask a 
favour at thy hands, more precious than my life.” 

“ I will grant it, excellent lady, at the cost of mine 
own, if only it does not interfere with my loyalty 
to Caesar and my duty as a soldier.” 

Euphrosyne’s brow clouded. She paused a moment, 
and when she spoke it was not to communicate the 
nature of the favour she asked. 


“Pontius, Mb at Ibast XTbou Done?” 161 


“Thou art the centurion of the watch over the 
execution of Jesus of Nazareth,” she said. 

The centurion bowed. 

“ He is unjustly condemned,” she added. 

“Most unjustly,” was the unhesitating reply. 

“ Then, Roman,” she returned, “ it cannot be 
disloyalty to Caesar, or contrary to a soldier’s duty, 
to right the wrong ? ” 

“ I do not understand thee, lady.” 

“ I will speak so plainly that thou canst under- 
stand,” she said. “ If a band of soldiers meet thee 
on the road to Golgotha, and attempt a rescue, 
I ask thee in the name of justice to this wrongly 

condemned Man — I ask thee to ” She stopped, 

hoping she was understood, and that he would 
help her by speaking ; but the centurion remained 
silent. 

“ I implore thee,” she continued, speaking boldly 
now, “that thou wouldst, in this case, either be 
neutral, or make but a show of resistance. I will 
guarantee thee the pardon of the governor, and give 
any reward that — that — is due for this service ; and 
I pray thee remember it is in the cause of righteous 
justice I ask this thing.” 

The centurion looked at the speaker, and marvelled 
at the strange radiancy which, as it were, clothed 
Euphrosyne’s form. It dazzled him. He likened 
it afterwards to a sudden light appearing to a lost 
wanderer in the darkness. However costly and 
beautiful the lamp might be that held it, it was the 
light within that was of value, so the loveliness of 
the governor’s wife seemed to him second to this 
almost celestial inspiration. 

Nevertheless he bent his eyes upon the ground, 

ii 


162 


©be ©tanbs Hlone 


lest he should meet the gaze of hers and lose his 
resolution ere he spoke. 

“ Most excellent lady, a soldier’s duty is to obey 
the laws, not readjust them. I cannot do this thing.” 

Euphrosyne looked keenly at him. She perceived 
he was under the spell of her attraction, and yet 
resisted it ; and she tried another way. 

“ Will nothing move thee, Roman ? Listen,” — lower- 
ing her voice — “ I am rich, a trader of Tyre, partner 
of the richest of its merchant princes, a dealer in 
scarlet and purple dyes. Each drop from our vats 
means gold. Name your price. It cannot be so high 
but I will meet it. See, here is a pledge for my 
word,” — and she detached a jewel from her ear. 
“ This is a pearl at least equal to that which the 
serpent queen of old Nile dissolved in the draught 
she drank to the fortunes of your Roman Antony. 
Keep it as security. Every coin I possess, every 
drop of life-blood in my body, I would give for the 
rescue of Jesus of Nazareth.” 

From any other quarter the centurion would have 
indignantly rejected this offer as an insult. In this 
case he only shook his head ; and then a wondering 
thought passed through him. What motive caused 
this great lady, whom he knew was no disciple of the 
condemned Nazarene, to take so profound, nay, so 
passionate an interest in this humble Man of the 
people? Suddenly he inquired, — 

“ Didst thou know this Galilean Prophet, lady ? ” 

“ I have never seen Him, Roman. I did not even 
know His name until but now I wrote it in my own 
Greek tongue upon the scroll thou holdest in thy 
hand. But Zeus, or some higher power, sent me 
dreams whilst my lord sat upon the judgment-seat ; 


“H>ontius, Wbat Ibast XTbou S tone?” 163 


and I know by them that my destiny is bound up 
with this Man’s life, and that when the sun has grown 
cold, and the stars fade, and this world perishes in 
the decay of age, He and I shall be together, immortal, 
for ever and for ever.” 

The centurion raised his eyes and looked at the 
governor’s wife in great amaze. It was not at her 
beauty, her burning eloquence, or the sound of her 
magic voice ; but it was as if something of the immor- 
tality of which she spoke had entered into her, an 
immortality incarnated within her earthly form. 

A silence fell between them, then Euphrosyne 
spoke again. 

“ Roman, darest thou refuse to save this Jesus of 
Nazareth ? ” 

“ Lady,” he answered low, with faltering speech 
and averted eyes, “ I can but repeat, A soldier is 
not to judge, but to obey.” 

“ Oh that Aurelius were here in thy place ! ” cried 
Euphrosyne in her agony. 

“ Aurelius,” repeated the soldier. “ Dost thou mean 
the noble centurion, lady ? ” 

“ Yes, were he here instead of thyself, Jesus of 
Nazareth would be saved.” 

“Nay,” replied the centurion gravely; “thou 
canst know but little of Aurelius, lady, if thou 
believest he would consent to right an unlawful act 
by unlawful means.” 

Euphrosyne rarely blushed, but now a crimson 
wave rose over her face, and for very shame she hid 
it in her hands. 

“ I have failed,” she answered with a stifled sob, 
“ and He whom I hoped was a god, and whom for 
years I have been seeking, must die ; and if He die 


1 64 


Sbe Stanbs Hlone 


my hopes die with Him, for gods are immortal and 
cannot die. Well, be it so. Despair like life must 
be borne, and lived through and accepted, as best it 
can be. But, Roman, at least promise me that no 
cruel touch or insult shall molest the Victim on His 
way to the cross. Surely,” she added bitterly, “ this 
act will not interfere with thy duty to Caesar.” 

“ None shall touch or injure Him. He shall be 
dealt gently with on the way to Calvary. I swear 
it, lady. I grieve to add, I have no power after 
we reach the cross. Then He is delivered to the 
executioners. 

“ One other request,” said Euphrosyne. “ When — 
when — all is over, I pray thee bring me the scroll 
of the accusation. Let me at least possess that relic 
of my shipwrecked hope.” 

“ I will bring it thee, excellent lady. Nay, take 
back thy gem ” — which she still held towards him. 
“ If thy beauty, pleading, and tears have failed to 
move me, think not this bauble can succeed.” 

Then the centurion bowed low before Euphrosyne 
and left her presence. 


CHAPTER XVI 


DESERTION 


HEN Sappho rejoined her mistress the latter 



related her dream, and her interviews with 


Pilate, the captain, and the centurion, 

“ Behold a miserable woman, O friend,” she con- 
cluded. “ My life has been cursed. My betrothed 
husband was lost to me, my father died of grief for 
my sake, and now the God whom I hoped would 
lead me to the truth is but a Man, for He is about 
to be slain, and therefore cannot be a god. The 
Eumenides are on my track, Sappho.” 

All this was true, and Sappho held her peace. 

“ I felt sure,” continued Euphrosyne, “ when I awoke 
from my dream, that the Man of Sorrows was sent 
to me from the Unknown God, and that Jesus of 

Nazareth was He ; but now ” 

“The Man of Sorrows died in thy dream, my 
child.” 

“ I question it. True, I saw in my dream that 
they nailed Him to the cross, but I also saw the 
battalions of mighty warriors waiting to save Him. 
No, no, no, Sappho. This Man of Sorrows I saw 
again in dread majesty upon a throne of judgment. 
Gods cannot die, and men come not back. Ah, I 
fear that Jesus of Nazareth cannot be my Man of 
Sorrows, or the celestial judge of my dream.” 


Sbe Stands Hlonc 


t66 

“ Forget it, my foster-child. Forget this evil 
dream. It was sent for no good, it seemeth to me.” 

“ Perhaps,” suggested Euphrosyne, “ Zeus sent it 
to me to avenge my insult to his image, or the 
Unknown God answered me in mockery.” 

“ Who can say ? Who amongst us mortals can 
unravel the tangled mystery of life ? ” replied Sappho. 
“ Forget it all, I again say. Thou hast youth, 
strength, beauty, riches, intellect, and rank — every 
good gift earth can bestow ; and if these things can- 
not teach thee to enjoy as well as to forget, verily 
the salt of life has lost its savour.” 

“ Thou art wise, O philosopher,” replied Euphrosyne 
mournfully. “ I will from henceforth cast the past 
behind me, and make a future for myself, of what 
power and ambition can come into a woman’s narrow 
path of life. Yea, I will forget.” 

As she spoke, Pilate came to the door of his wife’s 
apartment, and requested admittance. 

“The lady Claudia is ill, my lord,” said Sappho, 
who hastened to give the message herself. 

“ But surely she can see me, freedwoman ? ” 

“ She is in a high fever of excitement, most ex- 
cellent Pontius ; but if she is left perfectly quiet for 
awhile, and can obtain sleep, will soon, I think, be 
herself again.” 

The governor frowned, and turned away half dis- 
appointed, half relieved. He longed for reconciliation 
with, yet dreaded the reproaches of, his wife. He 
was anxious about her, and sent many messages of 
inquiry, always receiving the same answer, “ The 
most excellent lady Claudia was still ill.” 

Yet the eve and night of this dread day, and the 
whole of the next, Euphrosyne and her foster-mother 


desertion 


I67 


were alone and busy in the so-called sick-chamber, 
as if preparing for a journey, and several times 
Sappho left the palace veiled and unobserved ; and 
each time she returned her mistress conferred long 
and anxiously with her. 

The great day of this earth dawned ; greater than 
that on which the morning stars sang together, for 
joy of its creation ; greatest because upon it Christ 
had risen from the dead, and turned the hope He 
brought to the sons of men at His birth into victory. 

Very early on the morning of this king of days, 
when all was still and silent in the late riotous city 
of Jerusalem, Euphrosyne and Sappho, in the dis- 
guise of two peasant women, passed through a small 
unguarded gate in the city walls, facing the Mount 
of Olives, and, crossing the brook Kedron, ascended 
the hill. At the summit they paused, and Eu- 
phrosyne turned round, and gazed at the view unfold- 
ing itself beneath the returning sunlight. It was not 
upon the fair city her eyes were riveted. She marked 
not its gates and palaces, its hill of Zion, the white 
marbles and golden doors of the majestic Temple on 
Moriah, which surpassed in grandeur, if not in 
beauty, the triumphs of art on her own Acropolis. 
Her eyes were fixed upon three huge blackened 
empty crossbeams, rising gaunt beyond the city, 
upon the accursed Golgotha. The rays of the rising 
sun refused to rest upon their hideous outlines, and 
the centre rose high above the others, in awful 
deserted loneliness. 

Euphrosyne flung up both arms towards heaven, 
with the despairing action of the drowning, and cried 
in a lamentable voice that chilled the ear of Sappho, — 


5be Stanbs Blotte 


168 

“ Dead ! dead ! dead ! and gods do not die ! 
Oh, Man of Sorrows, why didst Thou not make the 
sign to those glorious legions, who could have saved 
Thee ? My hope is gone. My faith is slain. Gods 
cannot die, and man comes not back,” she again 
and again repeated. 

If she had but known ! Could her eyes have been 
for the second time opened, to see the vision of angels 
in that empty tomb ! Could her ears have been 
unstopped to hear those two words at that moment 
spoken in the garden, “ Mary ” — “ Rabboni,” — her 
hopeless moan would have been changed into joy 
unspeakable. 

Then she might have seen and believed in Him who 
lived and was dead, and in whom she who was so eager 
to believe ere she had seen. She might have joined 
the company of the disciples in those days of the 
first great love of the Church, not even to be imagined 
now, when the love of Christians is neither cold nor 
hot, and she might have been amongst the glorious five 
hundred who witnessed the Ascension. She might 
have sat by the side of the blessed Virgin Mother in 
that upper room, when the visible sign of the Holy 
Ghost, the tongue of fire, might have rested also upon 
herself ; and she might have poured her riches into the 
“ all things common ” fund, and dedicated her intellect 
and her influence to the war against Satan’s paganism ; 
and, finally, she might have been numbered with the 
noble army of martyrs. 

Thou fool ! who thinkest, speakest, or writest those 
vainest of earthly words, “ what might have been.” 
Crush the thought. Stifle the words. Draw thy pen 
through them. They have neither meaning nor 
existence. Man can neither arrange nor alter his 


Desertion 


169 


destiny. On every human life the fiat has gone 
forth, “What is ordained, will be.” The events of 
our lives are out of our power and are of secondary 
importance. How we pass through them is everything. 
We are morally, not materially responsible for our 
lives, and are accountable only for our sins. 

The tools of wealth, talents, rank, and personal 
gifts, so powerful in man’s estimation, are worthless 
in the workshop of God. He chooses His instruments 
from things weak and despised. The founders of 
His kingdom were unlearned and ignorant men, with 
the provincial accent so despised in courtly cities, 
and when He condescended to make use of the learning 
and ability of Paul, it was of Paul the journey- 
man tent-maker. 

The Unknown God was leading Euphrosyne by 
a way she knew not, by paths of darkness, error, and 
sorrow, until she became fully disciplined and prepared 
to enter into His kingdom. 

Once more she looked shudderingly at the horrid 
cross-tree, slightly at the sleeping city, and turned 
away from the earthly “Jerusalem the goklen,” never 
again to revisit it. 

At the foot of the other side of Olivet a country- 
man in appearance awaited them with three saddled 
asses, and a sumpter mule, well laden, the baggage 
covered on the top with vegetables and coarse bread 
loaves. The party journeyed for a while through 
rough by-roads, and at length struck the road to 
Joppa, which place they reached without any mis- 
adventure. 

Here Euphrosyne largely rewarded their guide. 
He was a Greek relative of Sappho’s, whom she fully 
trusted, but whom, nevertheless, she took care to see 


Sbe Stanbs Blone 


170 

safely shipped off to Greece before the departure of 
Euphrosyne and herself for Tyre. 

Arrived at the merchant city, they went secretly 
to the house of Euphrosyne’s uncle Cleon ; and there 
remained under the guise of superior slaves in perfect 
safety, for the women’s half of a Greek’s house was 
almost as secure from intrusion as the harem of a 
Turk. 

The fury and vexation of Pilate at his wife’s 
disappearance knew no bounds. He threatened all 
her attendants with death if she was not soon 
discovered, and would doubtless have carried out the 
threat had they not saved themselves by following 
the example of their mistress. Through the whole 
country of Judea and Galilee search was privately 
but diligently set on foot ; but so well had the 
escape been arranged and carried out, that not the 
faintest clue turned up to lead to the discovery 
of the fugitives. 

A sealed letter was left by Euphrosyne, directed 
to the governor, within which was written : — 

“ I am no longer thy wife, Pontius. Our compact is 
broken, and by thyself. It is in vain to search for me. 
I will die ere I return to thee. — Euphrosyne.” 

Every present he had given her, and all that had 
been bought with her husband’s money, was left 
behind. Her own money and jewels she had taken 
with her. 

At last the governor, convinced that the search 
was vain, acquiesced in what appeared to be the 
inevitable ; but from that time Pilate grew daily 
more soured and morose, and became a tyrannical 
and corrupt ruler. 


Desertion 


171 

As a matter of course he had applied to Cleon. 
The wily Athenian expressed the greatest displeasure 
at his niece’s conduct, informing the deserted husband 
that from henceforth he renounced his unfaithful 
relative, and forwarding Pilate — at Euphrosyne’s 
desire — a considerable sum of money, which he 
begged the governor to accept from him as the 
final settlement of her dower. 

When, as they judged, the scent of detection was 
wearing out, Euphrosyne and Sappho accompanied 
Cleon to Athens, there to finally wind up the affairs 
of Lysander. This visit was one of great pain to 
Euphrosyne. Short as had been her absence, much 
change had been wrought in her world in this city. 
Her father, the centre spirit of Athens, was dead, 
and Alcides the Cynic, who had loved her with a 
father’s love — he too had gone to his long home ; 
Arcadia had been sold to a wealthy Athenian, and 
its place knew her no more. To the wise men 
who had trained and been so proud of their pupil, 
she dared not reveal herself, for she was now care- 
fully disguised and quite unknown in this her native 
city. 

Yet outwardly to her nothing was changed. The 
temples of the gods were as crowded and beautiful as 
ever ; the halls of the Academy resounded with the 
talk and walk of the philosophers of the various 
schools and sects ; new statues, fresh paintings, were 
exhibited, and the chatter of news buzzed over and 
around the porticoes of the city ; the wives, sisters, 
and daughters of Athens stole forth in unnoticed 
neglect, and the hetaerae were everywhere in flaunting 
evidence. 

One change did not displease Euphrosyne. Hyla 


172 


Sbe Stanbs Blone 


— the enemy who had caused all this woe and ruin to 
herself and those dearest to her — Hyla was no more. 
She did not long survive her malignant and success- 
ful vengeance. One of her courtesan employees 
had poisoned her in a jealous fit, and another 
hetaera filled her place. The poisoner in this case 
did not escape so easily as her mistress had done 
in a similar crime. She was arrested, convicted, 
and sentenced to drink the hemlock draught of 
death. 

When the business of the sojourn was completed, 
and Lysander’s remaining house property quietly 
disposed of, Cleon and his niece prepared for their de- 
parture ; and Euphrosyne left “ Athens the beautiful,” 
as she had quitted “Jerusalem the golden,” never to 
behold it again. 

When Euphrosyne had reached her uncle’s house 
after her flight from Jerusalem, and he had learned 
her story, he shook his head doubtfully, and inquired, 
“ Was this well done, Euphrosyne ? ” 

“ It is well done, kinsman,” she answered passion- 
ately. “ Pilate, my forced husband, deceived me. I 
told him if he did so a second time I would never 
give him a third opportunity. He deceived again, 
and I will never henceforth be his wife.” 

Cleon knew it was useless to oppose his kinswoman ; 
so, instead of arguing the matter and wasting his 
remonstrances, he gave her the safety of his protection, 
and at once began to look into the money affairs 
between them. Hence their visit to Athens. 

When all these matters were settled, and a division 
arranged, Euphrosyne expressed a wish that a con- 
siderable portion of her property should be confided 


Desertion 


173 


to a firm of Jews in Alexandria. These people were 
already noted as expert money-changers, and the 
brothers Eleazar she mentioned bore a high character 
for shrewdness and integrity. The remainder, and 
half her share of the Tyrian dyes, were to remain in 
Cleon’s hands. 

“ Why Alexandria ? ” inquired Cleon. 

“ Because I purpose to make Egypt my future 
home, kinsman. I mean to enter the great temple 
of Isis at Thebes as an attendant on the priestesses, 
and by dint of money and ability to work my way 
up to the position of the high priestess of this 
goddess.” 

“What!” cried the astounded Cleon, “dost thou, 
who refusest to believe in the great gods of Greece, 
dare renegade to the debased religion of old Egypt, 
worshipping cats and reptiles in place of the deities 
of Olympus ? Is this the end of thy impiety to the 
gods of thy country, which perchance hath brought 
upon thee the misfortunes of thy life, kinswoman?” 

“ I believe in the cats and reptiles of Egypt as 
much and no more than I believe in the fables 
of Olympus,” she answered ; “ at least they are living, 
whilst the images we worship as representatives of 
the gods are dead. Thou sayest, kinsman, the cruelty 
of my destiny is the revenge of the gods of Gieece ; 
thou dost not reason truly. My misfortunes arise 
from the crowning one that I am a woman. Had I 
revered the gods, and obeyed the laws of my country, 
I had been the miserable wife of my cousin Phaon ; 
and Pilate was at least — irresolute and unjust as 
he was — a man. It is true I lost my lover ; but had 
I been a tame, as well as a virtuous woman, I should 
never have had a lover to lose. No, kinsman, Zeus, 


174 


Sbe Stands Hlone 


who could not find his thunderbolts when I lashed 
him, is innocent of my good or evil fortunes.” 

“ Well, kinswoman,” replied Cleon good-humouredly, 
“ I have not had thy education by the philosophers 
of Athens, so I will not dispute thy assertions. If 
it pleases thee to pray to beetles and to praise asps, 
I will not hinder thee. The brothers Eleazar are to 
be trusted, and will be a means of communication 
between us. Thou art a rich woman now, Euphro- 
syne, since no husband intervenes.” 

“ I am glad of it,” she answered coldly. “ Gold 
is the key which unlocks the doors of this world, 
if the possessor but knows how to turn it. Riches 
shall be the servants of my ambition.” 

“ Of what good is ambition to thee, a woman, 
kinswoman ? ” 

“ Good ! good ! What is good ? ” she sighed. “ Of 
what good has been my beauty, my talents, my love, 
my life? Of no good! Yet when one thing fails 
we mortals must try another, till the last great 
failure of all, death, ends the dreary tale.” 

“Ye gods!” muttered Cleon, as he walked away. 
“Is it just to give this woman every gift ye have to 
bestow, and then to add despair to poison them all ? ” 

The years came and went, and heathendom rung 
with the fame of a high priestess of Isis, whose oracles 
rivalled, nay surpassed, those of the Delphic Sibyl. 
Euphrosyne had quickly risen to the highest point 
of her ambition, and had become the high priestess 
of the mysterious old Theban temple. She had been 
reared in the arts and philosophy of Greece, and was 
now to become versed in the science of Chaldea and 
initiated into the magic of old Egypt. 



THE GREAT TEMPLE OF THEBES 
















































- 



























. 







Desertion 


175 


Her desires were more than accomplished. Her 
power was absolute, even to that of life and death 
within her temple. The multitude worshipped her, 
next to, if not by the side of, their goddess. 
Strangers flocked to the shrine, and hung upon her 
prophecies which appeared to fulfil themselves, so 
strangely they came to pass. Caesar himself was 
not more deferred to and flattered than she was by 
her following ; and the secrets of nature and magic 
were daily unfolded to her, and — she was one of the 
most unhappy of women. 

Her character was deteriorating rapidly, and she 
knew it, and a debasing sense of lost self-respect 
stabbed her pride with continual wounds. Her 
candid, truthful nature was merging itself into the 
system of lies and hypocrisy, of which she was the 
mover and the centre. At times she felt as though she 
must beat herself to death against one of the mighty 
pillars of these intricate avenues of stone forming 
the interior of the temple ; for death w r as her only 
means of escape. It was death for a high priestess 
of Isis to leave her temple, save in the processions 
of the goddess. 

The only relief from these paroxysms of despair, 
which attacked her intermittently like a disease, was 
to retire to the vast subterranean caverns, vaults, and 
passages below the temple. These interminable 
labyrinths were as extensive as the catacombs, and 
here Elbaram the Chaldean astrologer, and Zeroah 
the Egyptian sorcerer, had their laboratories and 
magic chambers ; in this secure privacy, with large 
staffs of assistants, attendants, and slaves they 
lived. 

The wisdom of Greece appeared to Euphrosyne 


176 


Sbe Stanbs HI one 


but child’s play compared to that of the Chaldean. 
She saw him illuminate the farthest recesses of the 
vast passages with light borrowed from the light- 
ning, and by controlling the same cause of power he 
showed her by experiment how the traveller could pass 
as if shot by an arrow over the sandy desert, across 
stormy seas or steepest mountains ; nay, more, how it 
could be subjected to the passage of man through the 
air with the unerring flight of the bird’s wing. She 
beheld his mastery over the forces beneath the earth. 
By some combinations which he could hold in the 
hollow of his hands, he would blast the bored rock, 
or shiver man’s stoutest fortress. He could construct 
tubes by which she could hear the faintest whisper in 
the temple above, and could transmit messages and 
receive replies by a mere manipulation of the simplest 
machinery. 

But greater still were her awe and wonder when she 
stood by his side on the summit of the astrologer’s 
tower, and there learned the alphabet of the mysteries 
of the eternal stars, which were communicated of old 
to the wise men of the East. At the glimpses of all 
these wonders, she, like the Queen of Sheba, had no 
more spirit left in her. 

“Oh, sage,” she faltered — she had called no man 
master since she had so addressed “ the Man of 
Sorrows,” “ why have all these marvels been hidden 
so long from mankind ? ” 

“ Because the world is not yet ready to use them, 
priestess. The time is not yet come. There must 
be comparative peace on earth ere they can be more 
than trials. There must be overcrowded populations 
ere they are needed. Some two thousand years 
hence, perhaps more, perhaps less, all these so- 


desertion 


177 


called secrets will be brought to light ; and the 
discovers will cry, * See how much wiser we are than 
our forefathers.’ They will boast in ignorance. 
The wise man says there is nothing new under the 
sun. There is nothing understood or known that has 
not already been known and understood at the 
beginning as at the end ! ” 

“From whence came all knowledge to the ancients, 
sage ? ” 

“ Direct from Jehovah, the Creator, priestess, to the 
men who lived a lifetime of a thousand years, and 
thus had time to receive and perfect the knowledge 
they handed down.” 

“ Why did they live longer than we? ” 

“ Because the air was as yet untainted, and the earth 
unpolluted with the decay and death of life, and the 
vitality first breathed into man was in its primal 
strength.” 

“Thou speakest of Jehovah, sage. Is not He the 
God of the Jews ? ” and as she spoke she looked stead- 
fastly at Elbaram, and perceived that his high 
aquiline features bore a strong resemblance to the 
people of Judea. 

“Thou art thyself a Jew,” she said suddenly. 

“Nay, I am not of the royal tribe of Judah, 
priestess, but of the imperishable race of Israel. It 
is the same blood. Thou hast divined rightly.” 

“ I thought thee Chaldean, sage ? ” 

“ I am of Manasseh’s tribe, and was taken in 
childhood to Chaldea and brought up among the 
wise men of the East. The God of the Hebrews is 
the God of these sages. I was not allowed to 
forget Him.” 

“ But,” remonstrated Euphrosyne, “ I have read 

12 


178 


5be Stanbs Hlonc 


in the sacred books of the Hebrews that Jehovah 
abhors image worship. How canst thou then settle 
thus under the temple of Isis, which is only idolatry, 
from the insect to the heifer ? ” 

“ I am here, priestess, because it is only under such 
protection, and with such uninterrupted and bound- 
less space, I can carry on the labours which are to 
me existence.” 

“ Again, sage, I would venture to ask if it is true, 
as I read, that Jehovah forbids His followers the use 
of magic, the unlawful art which is taught me 
here ? ” 

“ But not by myself, priestess,” Elbaram eagerly 
replied. “ Do me that justice. I have laid open to 
thee the mighty influences of the stars, I have 
exhibited before thee the hidden secrets of nature, 
but never the unholy practices of witch or wizard.” 

Then Euphrosyne remembered that whenever she 
had sought aid from the black arts, and strange 
spectres had arisen at her bidding, it was Zeroah the 
sorcerer who had acted as the master enchanter, and 
that Elbaram had always kept aloof. 


CHAPTER XVII 
THE SACRED GIRDLE 

I T was the day of a great festival of the goddess 
Isis. Thousands of devotees had thronged the 
temple from early morn, and tens of thousands of 
spectators crowded the streets in readiness to view 
and join in the grand procession of the image which 
was to take place in the cool of the evening. 

In the upper room of a house facing the route 
of the function, the lattice had been thrown open 
to catch the breeze from the river, and close to this 
opening a sick man lay upon a couch. 

Death had been very busy at that bedside. His 
work would soon be over ; the end was at hand. 

“ Glaucus,” gasped the dying man to the soldier- 
servant who was his nurse, “ move my couch from 
the lattice. The idol is passing. Let not my last 
look be upon its abomination.” 

But the shock of the movement was too much, 
and the master signed to the attendant to let him 
remain as he was. 

On came the procession amidst the thundering cries 
— we should say cheers — of the multitude, mingled 
with the clang of the musicians and the hymns of 
the chanters ; preceded and followed by gaily garbed 
priestesses and priests in embroidered vestments. 

179 


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Sbe Stanbs Hlone 


A colossal image of Isis seated on a platform was 
drawn along by hundreds of slaves, and behind it 
was another platform, on which stood the high 
priestess, covered with a glittering silver veil, fastened 
by a diadem on her forehead, from the centre of 
which the sacred asp, dexterously secured by its 
tail, and carefully deprived of its venom, darted its 
head and neck, as if ready to spring. The priestess 
received an ovation almost as enthusiastic as the 
idol itself. She bent her head as mechanically 
and graciously as modern royalties acknowledge 
the applause of their people, and scattered as she 
passed little effigies of the scarabaeus, and other small 
reptile gods, which were eagerly scrambled for by 
the crowd. 

At the moment she came opposite his casement 
the sick man opened his eyes, and a sudden cry came 
from his lips, “ ’Tis she ! Tis she ! ” 

“Who?” exclaimed the servant, hastening to his 
master, and holding a cup of wine to the pallid 
lips. 

“ The wife of the accursed governor who con- 
demned our Lord ; she, the matchless among women, 
who pleaded with me for the life of Jesus, as a 
mother might have entreated for her only son.” 

“ But how knowest thou, my captain, that it is 
the same ? ” remonstrated the soldier. “ This priestess 
is closely veiled.” 

“ Glaucus,” returned his master, “ this woman’s 
presence is graven deeply upon my memory. I 
know the turn and carriage of her proud head, the 
form of her hand and arm, and of her perfect feet, 
which surely no other woman ever before possessed. 
I tell thee it is she herself and no other, and I 


XTbe SacreD (Blrfcle 


181 


cannot die before I see her again and fulfil my 
promise to her.” 

There was neither falter nor weakness now in 
voice or feature. Respecting the emotion, and 
obedient to the dominating will of his victim, death 
stood aside. 

“ Go, Glaucus, and bring her here,” said his master. 

“ But if she refuses to come, O captain ! I may 
seem to her as a deceiver.” 

"Bring me a wax tablet and style.” They were 
placed in his hands, and these were the words he 
impressed upon the surface : — 

“The centurion on watch at the cross of Jesus 
of Nazareth hath a gift and a message for thee, O 
wife of Pontius Pilate.” 

“ Into her own hands, soldier, into none other,” 
urged the centurion. Then he sank back upon the 
bed and waited ; and the great Enemy had com- 
passion, and taking the servant-nurse’s place, watched 
and waited also, and stayed his destroying hand. 

The soldier-messenger followed the train of Isis 
back to the temple, and saw the high priestess about 
to enter a door at the back of the replaced image 
of the goddess. She was alone, and he contrived to 
intercept her and deliver his billet. 

“ Follow me,” she said, after glancing at the tablet, 
and she led him into an apartment where Sappho 
was awaiting her. 

“ Why could not the centurion have come himself? ” 
she inquired suspiciously. 

“ He is at the point of death, priestess, and cannot 
leave his couch.” 

“ Could he not then have sent his gift and message ? 


182 


Sbe Stanbs Hlone 


Knowest thou not, soldier, that it is death for a 
high priestess of Isis to leave her temple, save in 
company with her goddess ? ” 

“ I have obeyed the orders I have received, 
priestess,” replied the soldier. “ I know not the 
why or wherefore.” 

“Then at midnight, when all is safe and still in 
temple and city, come for me.” 

“To find my master departed, and the gift and 
message undelivered and unspoken. Nay, priestess, 
death waits for no delayed appointment. I will not 
leave without thee.” 

“ Thou art urgent, soldier,” remarked Euphrosyne, 
and looking again at the tablet, “ yes, thou art right. 
Nay, no opposition, Sappho,” she added, seeing the 
freedwoman was about to speak. “ Fetch linen and 
veils to disguise us like women of the people, and 
come with me to this man.” 

Both women were soon enveloped in shroudings, 
leaving only their eyes visible, and, each carrying a 
basket of dates on their arms, followed the messenger 
at a discreet distance, and were soon in the centurion’s 
chamber. 

“ Art thou not the wife of Pontius Pilate, the Roman 
governor of Judea?” inquired the centurion, raising 
himself without assistance, and looking earnestly upon 
the concealed figure of Euphrosyne, who entered first. 

“ I am, or rather I once was his wife, centurion,” 
she replied. 

“ Remove those swathings, I pray thee, lady, in 
order that I may see if thou art indeed the same who 
prayed in the agony of thy soul for the Lord of life 
and glory in His human form.” 

Euphrosyne made a slight sign of assent, and 


XTbe Sacrefc 0trble 


183 

Sappho, with quick deftness, unfolded the coverings 
from her mistress, who stood revealed in her priestess 
robe of black, embroidered all over in silver thread 
with the animal and reptile gods of Egypt, the white 
fillet of her dignity being wound amidst her hair. 

“ Ay, thou art the same ; years could neither injure 
nor improve thee. Come near to me, lady. Death 
is a king who brooks not waiting, and my strength 
may fail.” 

Euphrosyne came to his side. A casket lay upon 
the bed. This he opened, and took from within the 
scroll of the accusation which she and Pilate had 
written for the cross of Jesus of Nazareth. 

“ Thou bad’st me bring thee this,” he said, “ and I 
came thrice to thy palace, and was denied. Then I 
heard that thou hadst disappeared, none knew 
whither. I thank my Lord that I have found thee 
in time to redeem my promise ! ” 

His face changed. The soldier-nurse again gave 
him a cordial, and strength returned. 

“Jesus! risen and ascended Lord,” he supplicated, 
raising eyes and hands above, “ regard this woman, 
I pray thee, who alone of all the world stood by 
Thee in Thy day of sacrifice. As healing virtue 
came forth from the hem of Thy garment, and as 
many as touched Thee were made whole of what- 
soever ailed them ; so may Thy saving grace enter 
into this sacred scroll on her behalf. May it preserve 
her body from mortal harm of prison and of flood, 
from the knife and from the fire. May it guard her 
mind from all influence of evil spirits, and may it 
prove a conscience to her soul, leading her in the 
right, and enlightening her as to what is wrong, 
until Thy appointed time, when she shall turn away 


184 


Sbe Stanbs Hlone 


from her false idols, and join the blessed company 
of Thy disciples.” 

He turned to Euphrosyne, and held the scroll 
towards her. “ Take it, lady,” he said, “ and may He 
whose sacred head bowed beneath it bless thee with 
everlasting life.” 

She knelt reverently by the bedside, and received 
the holy relic from his hand ; bending her head over 
it in rapt and awe-struck adoration. Then the cen- 
turion sank back upon his pillow, and gently breathed 
forth his last sigh. 

Euphrosyne sent to Alexandria for a gold worker 
of great skill, and in her presence he set the priceless 
treasure of the accusation in a girdle, lining it with 
virgin gold so malleable it yielded elastically like 
woven silk or wool to the form it clasped, and 
guarding it in front by a substance so thin and clear 
the words underneath were plainly to be read. Re- 
membering the prayer and blessing of the centurion, 
she resolved this girdle should never leave her person. 
By day it encircled her waist ; by night it was 
wound twice around her arm. 

It was the age of mircles : handkerchiefs from 
the person of Paul cured the diseased, the baptismal 
water called down the gift of the Holy Ghost, the 
touch of the apostles raised the dead, and Euphrosyne 
soon felt a new and mighty influence at work within 
her soul, portending a change, the nature of which 
she could not understand. 

“ Sappho,” she said, “ I have never, like thee, been 
a mother. No child has lain beneath my bosom, 
and throbbed upon my heart, or owed its life to me ; 
and yet it seems as if a new and wonderful existence 


TLhc Sacrefc < 3 tr Me 185 

is forming within my inmost soul, an immortal and 
celestial one, never to depart.” 

The proud heart of the disappointed woman, which 
had grown hard in the heathen temple, began to 
soften ; her straight, truthful character, which had 
become crooked and double in the atmosphere of 
falsehood and amidst the tricks of the worship of 
Isis, veered insensibly round to its former bent ; and 
from her moral vision the film caused by the evil 
around became gradually dispelled, and she loathed 
and shrank from the depths of her self-imposed 
degradation. 

Euphrosyne now more than ever sought the counsels 
and company of Elbaram ; she spent long hours, 
even days, in the subterranean chambers, Sappho 
alone accompanying her, and the report was spread 
that the priestess was in retreat, and in direct 
personal communication with the goddess. 

Euphrosyne was no longer interested in the 
material wonders of science ; she now searched for 
spiritual needs and natures, and she felt that, all 
seer and sage as he was, Elbaram could only impart 
cloudy and partial lights upon these all-important 
subjects. 

“ Sage,” she observed one day, " thou predictest 
that thousand on thousands of years hence the 
wonders thou hast shown me will be commonly 
known and universally utilised throughout the world. 
Tell me, will the people who will then inhabit it 
be better as well as wiser, than they are now ? ” 

" The world and its inhabitants will then be 
improved, daughter, but they will not be better.” 

“ I do not understand the difference, sage.” 

" I will explain the difference, priestess. In all 


i86 


Sbe Stanbs Hlone 


that pertains to the ease and convenience of the body, 
and in the more general acquisition and possession 
of knowledge, it will then be a more prosperous and 
a far pleasanter world to live in ; but the nature and 
the soul of man will not progress. It will be the 
same evil, selfish, unjust, and morally impotent Ego 
it is now, has ever been, and will remain until the 
end. Human nature, priestess, is unchangeable.” 

“How wouldst thou define human nature, sage?” 
Euphrosyne asked. " Some amongst the wise men 
of Greece pronounced it all good, others contested it 
was all bad, others declared it was mixed with both 
good and bad equally, or inequally distributed. 
Ah, I remember me how they reasoned on this 
matter, and yet never seemed to come near the 
truth.” 

“ Reason,” and Elbaram spoke dreamily — “ Reason 
to man, priestess, is like a broken staff in the hands 
of a lame man. Reason never proved a truth or 
checked a sin. The things pertaining to the soul 
must be revealed from above, not reasoned out from 
below.” 

“We are wandering from our subject, sage. Tell 
me, what, after all, is human nature ? ” 

“ Human nature, priestess, is good meat tainted ; 
it is a pure crystal with a flaw in its centre. We 
cannot remove the taint, we cannot restore the im- 
perfection. Corrupted and marred it must remain, 
until Shiloh comes.” 

“ And who is this Shiloh, and when will He come, 
O sage ? ” she said. 

“ Ah, that I cannot tell thee. The times and the 
seasons are not revealed to the sons of men. All I 
know is that when He cometh He will restore all 


Ube Sacreb Gtrble 187 

things, and the taint shall be removed, and the flaw 
shall vanish from the gem.” 

“ Tell me, O sage, who is Shiloh ? ” cried Euphro- 
syne in eager curiosity. 

“He is the Prince of Judah, priestess, and when, 
after the sore long years of our affliction, He appears 
upon Mount Zion, He shall raise His tribe to the 
sovereignty of this earth, and shall gather the lost 
ten tribes to which I belong, from a nation now 
unknown, to join in their triumph ; and under this 
rule human nature will be no more, for a godlike 
humanity shall fill the renovated world. 

Then Elbaram fell into a trance, and Euphrosyne 
stole silently away. 

There has arisen amongst us in this Britain of our 
latter days a small but enthusiastic band of believers 
who — notwithstanding the difference in physiognomy, 
the lack of any trace of like customs, traditions, or 
religion, and in the face of anti-Oriental characteristics 
and temperament — maintain that our Anglo-Saxon 
race is identical with the ten lost tribes of Israel. 
What patriot of his country but would desire to 
be enrolled in the ranks of this delightful faith, 
which promises to its members the supreme rank 
in a renewed earth? It seems to me that proofs 
of this glorious identity lie rather in the present 
position and apparent great future of the Anglo- 
Saxon people than in the theories of submerged 
origin or vague legends of heredity. In the mag- 
nificent colonisation in which no other nation equals, 
far less exceeds ours, in the population of the race 
spreading its roots upon every soil and flourishing 
under every clime, the Anglo-Saxon is surely fulfilling 


5b e 5tanbs Hlone 


1 88 

the prediction that the seed of Abraham shall be 
as the sand of the sea and outnumber the stars of 
heaven. 

Again, is not the rapid domination of the English 
language a sign of earth’s future ruling people? 
Our tongue like Aaron’s rod is swallowing up all 
others, and if it continues its present course must 
in a century or so, reduce all others to dead languages 
and place their literature as classics on the shelves. 
Yet once more, it is not vain glory, but fact, that 
the growing influence and increasing territory of our 
race does justify the hope that we may claim affinity 
with the favoured Israel of Him, the Prince, the 
Shiloh of Judah, of whose kingdom there shall be 
no end. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR 

W HEN Euphrosyne visited Elbaram, he ordered 
bread, wine, fruits, and fish to be served, 
and at her departure repeated the hospitality. This 
was his Eastern fashion of pledging friendship and 
good faith. At other times, she and Sappho ate 
by themselves, for Elbaram ruled his habits and 
health by the laws of the great medical book of 
Leviticus, and as before stated there was no lack 
of service in these vast vaults to supply every 
requirement of the priestess and her attendant. It 
was during these two repasts which he shared with 
her that the astrologer appeared to Euphrosyne 
to be at his best, wisest, and kindliest. 

During one of these tete-a-tete meals, soon after 
the bequest of the centurion, Elbaram abruptly 
addressed his guest with the inquiry, — 

“ Priestess, I pray thee tell me what hath come 
to thee, for I perceive something hath happened, 
thou art so strangely changed. I do not speak of 
thy clothing of flesh, but to me it seems that the 
lamp of thy soul within shines with a different light, 
and is surely fed with oil from another source ; also, 
189 


igo 


Sbe Stanbs Hlone 


what meaneth the girdle and its varied inscriptions 
which thou wearest, priestess ? ” 

“ Sage,” she replied, “ thou has divined rightly. 
A change, and a great one, hath passed over me. 
Something, as thou supposest, has happened, and it 
concerns this girdle which is ever near my person. 

0 sage,” she continued, coming over to his side and 
whispering low, “ I would fain tell thee the secrets 
of my soul, the history of my life, for greatly do 

1 need both counsellor and friend ; but these walls 
have ears and these roofs have eyes, and my secret, 
escaped to a stranger, might bring me worse than 
death.” 

“ Priestess,” responded the Chaldean, also whisper- 
ing in her ear, “ thou hast spoken prudently. I 
also have a secret to tell thee, so I will take thee 
where they who have ears hear not and they who 
have eyes see not, and where they who can hear 
and see dare not intrude. Let us part now, and 
when the great dial time guide of the temple points 
past midnight, meet me here.” 

At the appointed time the two met. The 
astrologer led Euphrosyne through many tortuous 
passages she had never traversed before, until they 
reached a long flight of stairs leading downwards to 
a hall lighted with a solitary lamp. Elbaram opened 
a door which he carefully barred behind them, and 
Euphrosyne’s heart beat quicker and then seemed 
to stop at the unexpected sight presented to her. 

A corridor, or rather gallery, of considerable width 
and height, and it appeared of interminable length, 
was intersected at intervals with crossing aisles, and 
the whole was illuminated bright as day with rows 
of blazing resinous torches, fixed in stands along the 


Ube Wife of potipbar 191 

centre ; and this place was filled to crowding with 
the casketed stone mummies of the Egyptian dead. 

Lying on the ground, propped against the walls, 
on shelves, in niches, one upon another, nay, here and 
there in heaps, lay the close-coffined and forgotten 
dead. Yes, forgotten, notwithstanding the mural 
monuments covering the walls, corresponding with 
the numbered names and hieroglyphics on each stone- 
cemented home, recording the lives and virtues, none 
now cared to read. It was only with great caution and 
difficulty that the two could thread the thronged high- 
way, for the floor was also covered with the mummies 
of sacred animals and reptiles. Euphrosyne thought 
that the garish light rendered the spectacle more 
repellent than if only a torch or two had been carried 
by themselves through the gloom. 

The silence was unnatural ; it could be felt. Their 
sandalled footsteps would have been unheard else- 
where, here they fell upon her nerves like distinct 
sharp shocks. She fancied her very breath awoke 
loud and repeating echoes, as if words had been 
spoken, and she felt as if even a whispered syllable 
would have reverberated like a bell. 

They entered several transepts all filled with 
mummies, and might easily have been lost in these 
never-ending mysterious vaults, had not Elbaram 
carried in his hand a coil of thin cord, which at every 
turn he fastened to some projection, thus securing a 
safe return. 

At length they arrived at a door, which the 
astrologer opened, and Euphrosyne followed him into 
a small chamber. It contained two stools and a 
hanging lamp, and this was all save a set of tressels 
in the centre, on which was placed the inner case of 


192 


Sbe Stanbs Bloite 


a mummy. The outer coffin was on the ground, and 
Euphrosyne shrank with a half-superstitious fear as 
she saw that the cerements had been loosened from 
the face. 

“ Here lies my secret, priestess,” said the astrologer. 
“ I could not enjoy its long-sought-for triumph alone, 
and I care for and trust none as I regard and believe 
in thee, and when thou hast heard my tale thou shalt 
tell me thine.” 

Euphrosyne did not answer. Her eyes were 
riveted with unwilling fascination upon that mum- 
mied form. 

“Come near and look upon this woman,” said 
Elbaram. “ She in her era was, like thee in thine, 
the most beautiful woman in the world,” and he drew 
the cerecloth from the face. 

Unwillingly she approached and bent over the 
bier, to start back with a cry of dismay ; for upon 
those features, shrivelled and dried as the skin upon 
them was, an expression of agony and despair was 
stamped that surely no human soul could have borne 
and lived. 

“ O sage,” cried Euphrosyne, “ draw back the 
cover over this dreadful thing. Knowest thou not 
the consequences of disturbing the body of a dead 
Egyptian ? ” 

“Thou meanest, priestess, it will annihilate the soul; 
but thou and I believe not in such fables.” 

“ But they believed in it, sage. Respect their fable, 
and remember it would be base treachery in me, a 
high priestess of Isis, to forget or ridicule the belief.” 

“In my ignorance of thy past life, priestess, I will 
ask if thou hast ever suffered injury from thy fellows 
and longed for vengeance ? ” 


T 93 


TTbe Mite of potipbar 

" I have suffered bitter wrongs, and I have longed 
for vengeance, sage.” 

“Then thou canst be at one with me in under- 
standing how sweet a morsel is revenge, how much 
sweeter if long delayed.” 

" I could once,” she murmured, “ but now ” 

“ Yes, but now ? ” he repeated. 

A strange feeling stirred within her. She pressed 
both hands upon her girdle, and murmured again, 
“ But now ” 

“ Answer me more plainly, priestess.” 

“ I think — if I could — it would be sweeter to 
forgive,” she whispered. 

Elbaram looked at her in perplexity. He let the 
cerement fall upon the face, drew one of the stools 
towards Euphrosyne, signed to her to be seated, 
and took the other himself. 

“ Listen, priestess,” he said ; “ I have already told 
thee I am descended from the same forefather as the 
Jews, which people, I gather from words thou hast let 
fall, thou hast sojourned amongst. 

“ Not to enter into needless particulars, suffice it 
to say,” he continued after a pause, “ that the father of 
Manasseh, from whom my tribe is named, was in the 
centuries passed by a slave in Egypt to a chief officer 
of one of the greatest of the Pharaohs. This man — 
the master — had the most beautiful wife in Egypt, and 
she was as wanton as fair. The youth of my race were 
— at least in olden times — remarkable for comeliness of 
person, and this woman was attracted by the Hebrew 
slave, and put forth every lure to ensnare him ; but 
the God of our fathers forbids as sin the taking of 
another’s wife, and the slave obeyed his God, and 
wotlld not listen to her. 


13 


i 9 4 


Sbe Stanbs Hlone 


u Then the woman in her rage inflamed her husband 
who was called Potiphar with lies against this youth, 
and he was thrown into a dreadful dungeon, his feet 
in the stocks, the iron entering his soul. But her 
triumph was short, and her retribution quick. She 
soon found another paramour, and was discovered. 
Her enraged husband caused her to be tortured, 
in ways it would torture thee to hear and I to 
tell. Then he burned the slave — it was another 
slave — to ashes — they are in yon casket — and cast 
the false wife into an iron-plated sliding chamber, 
which gradually closed around and from above, 
throwing her in suffocating agony into the arms 
of death.” 

" Was she that woman ? ” said Euphrosyne, pointing 
to the tressel. 

“ She was, priestess.” 

“ How did she injure thee, sage ? ” 

“ Whosoever injures one of our Hebrew race harms 
all, and must pay the penalty until the furthest 
generation, priestess. Therefore I shall add to the 
torments of her body by compassing, as she believed, 
the destruction of her soul.” 

“ What became of the Hebrew slave? Was he also 
tormented and suffocated ? ” inquired Euphrosyne. 

“ Nay. He rose by a strange chance into the high 
favour of Pharaoh. Jehovah, Israel’s God, never in 
the end deserts His servants — at least, so say our 
sacred books.” 

“The chaste, faithful slave was not harmed then, 
it appears ? ” said Euphrosyne drily. 

“ On the contrary, his misfortune led to his 
exaltation,” replied Elbaram. 

“ Then I should say thou owest her gratitude rather 


TTbe Mtfe of ©ottpbar 195 

than vengeance, sage. But what became of the 
husband, Pharaoh’s great officer ? ” 

“ I see upon his coffer, which lies close outside, 
that he took another wife and ” 

“ I understand,” interrupted Euphrosyne. “ And 
lived great and happy ever afterwards. But now, 
sage, tell me — if this Potiphar had acted in like 
manner with a woman slave of his wife’s, wouldst 
thou have called it just had he suffered the same 
punishment ? ” 

Elbaram made no reply. 

“ How dost thou propose to carry out thy ven- 
geance upon this unhappy woman, sage ? ” inquired 
Euphrosyne. 

“ I mean to plunge her body, and, as a consequence, 
her soul, into a liquid so powerful that even her 
ashes will remain undiscoverable,” answered Elbaram 
savagely. 

" Oh, sage ! ” exclaimed Euphrosyne mournfully, 
“ take heed thy vengeance be just, ere it is thus carried 
out. This woman was the cause of the Hebrew 
slave’s temporary disgrace, it is true, but her husband 
was the tool. She was wicked, but he was weak. 
She lied, but he believed the lie, and acted upon it 
without examination or proof. Hers was the sin — 
yes, but his was the hard injustice. Wreak thy 
revenge upon the right head, sage, even upon this 
cruel and unjust man — who in truth was the one 
who wronged thy ancestor — this Potiphar, as I read 
his name upon her breast.” 

Elbaram gave no answer, and Euphrosyne, changing 
the subject, said, — 

“Sage, I came here with the intention of telling 
thee my past history, and seeking thy counsel in my 


196 


Sbe Stanbs Hlotte 


perplexities ; but amidst these solemn surroundings, 
and after hearing this terrible story, I feel unable at 
present to open my heart to thee. One thing, how- 
ever, 1 will now disclose. I am resolved to quit the 
priesthood and temple of Isis, and I shall pray thine 
aid to further my escape.” 

“ Oh, priestess ! ” cried the alarmed astrologer, 
“ knowest thou not that death is the only canceller 
of the high service of Isis ? It is madness to think 
of such an attempt.” 

“ I am neither mad nor afraid, sage, and am ready 
to dare death. To-morrow I will tell thee why I 
feel constrained to depart. Now, ere we quit this 
place, my friend, my father, grant me one favour, 
the first I have ever asked of thee.” 

“ I will grant it, my daughter. Ah, priestess, I 
knew not until I heard thee speak of leaving me how 
dear to my soul thy friendship hath become.” 

“ Then for the sake of the pure affection we bear 
to one another, O father and friend, lay again 
each covering over the face of this miserable woman 
Secure them in the appointed order, for to thee, O 
sage, all science and knowledge is familiar. Then 
let us reverently lay her back in her resting-place, 
and may the gods she served in life have mercy 
upon her.” 

Elbaram made no reply ; but he at once folded 
and rolled back each cerement in deft order, melted 
and applied cements and spices which would preserve 
the mummy and secure its home, and then, taking 
the coil of twine in his hand, led the way back 
through the vaults of this strange Egyptian cemetery. 

“What is that?” exclaimed Euphrosyne, under 
her startled breath. “ I surely heard a step.” 


197 


Ubc Mife ot ©otipbar 

“ Impossible,” returned the astrologer. “ None 
except ourselves and the shades could enter this 
place, and the latter are with their bodies safe in 
their stony homes,” he added in ghastly levity. 

“ Whence then the service of lighting these 
torches ? ” queried the priestess. " The slaves must 
surely divine the secrets of these chambers, sage ? ” 

“ Only mutes attend, and in my presence,” was 
Elbaram’s reply; and Euphrosyne recollected that 
the deaf and dumb formed a large proportion of the 
attendants in the subterranean temple. 

When they reached the laboratory, the two parted ; 
Elbaram to undergo the purification enjoined by 
the law of Moses after touching a dead body, and 
Euphrosyne to return with Sappho to the upper 
temple. 

The quick ear of the priestess had not deceived 
her. There was a step echoing among the mummified 
relics of the long departed Egyptians. Zeroah the 
magician had been watching herself and Elbaram, 
and had followed and effected an entrance unknown 
to the latter. 

Zeroah was a dwarf and hunchback, with a 
monstrous flat head, not unlike that of a toad, and 
resembling that creature likewise in the extraordinary 
brilliancy of his eyes. He was endowed with an 
intelligence and knowledge that appeared super- 
human to others less gifted. His powers of intellect 
had doubtless been sharpened and enlarged by 
constant intercourse with the far greater mental 
natures of the powers of darkness. 

His forefathers in regular succession had been 
sorcerers and magicians before him ; in fact, he 
traced back his descent to those old masters of magic 


198 


Sbe Stanbs HI one 


who resisted the shepherd kings, and raised the 
black art to the dignity of a science. 

He had been born and had lived all his days 
in these subterranean vaults, and in his visits, few 
and far between, to the upper world, had only met 
with the lower and inferior types of womanhood, and 
by these he had been so jeered at and contemned for 
his uncouth appearance, that he conceived an intense 
hatred to the sex, only second to a bitter malice 
against humanity in general. 

The advent of the high priestess of Isis, when 
she first came down to be instructed by the astrologer 
in the knowledge of the stars, and to be taught 
magic, affected Zeroah with a strange sense of 
trouble that was akin to pain. This mood was 
followed by a charmed admiration for her supreme 
beauty and magnetic attraction, heightened by her 
remarkable ability and acquirement ; and gradually, 
as time wore on, these feelings became a part 
of his being, which was swallowed up, as it were, 
in hers ; and yet he never dared even to dream 
of loving her, still less that she should stoop to care 
for him. He adored her as he would have worshipped 
Isis if he ever could have worshipped at all, and 
as though she were as far above his hopes as the 
heavens were high above the earth. 

He would squat for hours in an unobserved corner, 
watching her as she received the teachings of Elbaram, 
and when she sought his aid as a magician, would 
obey her with the abject subjection of a faithful dog. 

Euphrosyne scarcely noticed all this. Accustomed 
to the admiring deference of men, she received it 
as her due, and did not trouble herself to mark its 
shades of difference, or its excess of manifestation. 


XTbe Wife of ©otfpbar 


199 


She pitied the sorcerer’s deformity, and respected 
his great intellect, and in the generous mercy of 
her disposition was markedly gracious in her bearing 
towards him ; little thinking how dangerously she 
was thus feeding flames, ready at any moment to 
break forth and consume them both. 

“ Why,” she inquired one day of Elbaram — 
Euphrosyne’s “ Why ” was ever on her lips — “ Why, 
sage, is this injustice permitted ? Look at ourselves,” 
she added. “We have been cast in natures best 

moulds, whilst Zeroah ” she slightly shuddered. 

“What have we done to deserve the superiority? 
What has he committed to receive this blight? 
Why should we be thus favoured and he accursed ? ” 
and she looked admiringly at the fine features of this 
member of the partricians of the earth — the Hebrew 
people — at his tall form, yet unbent, notwithstanding 
an age greater than perchance Elbaram himself knew, 
and the white abundant beard which covered his 
chest and added to the dignity of his appearance. 

“ I cannot answer thee, priestess,” responded the 
astrologer, well pleased, although trying to conceal 
his satisfaction, at the approval in Euphrosyne’s eyes. 
“It is another of the world’s unequal mysteries, which 
the stars have not yet made clear to us.” 


CHAPTER XIX 
THE IRON CHAMBER 

W HEN the magician Zeroah heard Euphrosyne’s 
intention of giving up her priestly rank and 
power and leaving the temple, a something seemed 
to be broken up within him, and a knowledge of 
himself and the true state of his heart opened before 
his mental eyes. He felt it was his life to be where 
the priestess was, and worse than death to be parted 
from her. He hastened to his own quarters, and 
betook himself at once to his enchantments and 
familiars, in the hope of gaining counsel and help to 
combat and conquer the fierce wild passion he now 
knew he entertained for the high priestess of Isis. 

It is not lawful to allude save in the vaguest terms 
to the sorcerer’s art. Before, and especially during the 
time of our Lord, evil demons went boldly to and fro 
upon the earth, held direct communication with the 
sons of men, and imparted to them the impious 
secrets of their fallen but mighty minds. 

Zeroah had been greatly favoured by their assist- 
ance, and on this occasion he exercised his deepest 
divinations, used his most potent charms, and raised 
his wildest invocations ; and at last, like the witch 
of Endor, was terrified at his own success. Whilst 
he was grovelling on the ground, waiting for signs 
200 


Ube 3von Chamber 


201 


from his familiar spirit, there descended a rustling 
of wings, not feathered, but like the heavy movement 
of a bat’s membraned pinions, and a form of lurid 
light of mingling flame and darkness stood before the 
magician, who, in indescribable terror, scarce dared to 
raise his eyes ; for he knew that this was Belial, one 
of the chiefs of the great rebel prince, Beelzebub — 
Belial, the god of the fleshly lusts of mankind, who 
with Mammon, the god of gold, are their sovereign’s 
chief instruments in the ruin of humanity. 

* Thou knowest me, sorcerer,” spoke the phantom. 
“In answer to thy invocations I am come to bestow 
upon thee the fairest of earth’s daughters, the priestess 
of Isis, whom thou lovest.” 

“ Oh, spirit, mock me not ! ” cried Zeroah in a 
transport, half fear, half triumph. “ I might as well 
hope to wed with Isis herself as with the gift thou 
offerest me.” 

“ Gift ? ” repeated Belial. * My lord, the exiled 
archangel, never gives ; he only exchanges. The 
priestess of Isis wears a girdle that my prince desires. 
It belonged to the King from whom he has revolted. 
There is virtue attached to it. It can only be 
obtained from its present owner by a fellow-mortal. 
Thou, at any cost, must obtain this thing. The 
reward we give in return is herself.” 

“ Oh, Belial ! ” hesitated Zeroah, “ she is sacred in 
my eyes. If she refuses — and I believe she will — to 
yield me the girdle, I cannot compel her. I would 
die rather than use force or insult.” 

The demon touched the sorcerer on his breast with 
a lance he held in his hand, which looked as if made 
of the flame that surrounded him, and instantly, as 
though inoculated venom had entered his system, 


202 


Sbe Stands HI one 


the nature of Zeroah’s attachment to Euphrosyne 
changed from a pure love and reverence into a 
degrading desire that overcame all scruples, and leapt 
all barriers, merging into a fierce determination to 
pay any price demanded by the fiend. 

“ The girdle from thee — the loveliest of women 
from me/ 5 whispered the spirit in his ear. 

“ I accept the bargain,” gasped Zeroah ; “ but she 
is never, whilst in my domain, out of the presence 
and protection of the astrologer Elbaram, and ” 

Again Belial raised his lance and touched Zeroah 
on the head, and as lust had entered his heart at 
the first, so now murder fired his brain at the second 
stroke. 

“ Elbaram is old. He may be gathered to his 
fathers, perchance,” suggested the demon. 

“True, O spirit. The girdle shall be thine.” 

“ And the woman shall be thine.” Then Belial, 
having finished his work, disappeared. 

During the seven days that Euphrosyne kept away 
from the subterranean chambers, her mental conflicts, 
or rather, the struggles of her soul, were almost more 
than she could endure. She knew the well-nigh 
insuperable difficulties of escape, and the terrible 
penalties of the failure of any such attempt ; but these 
perils seemed light compared to the loathing she 
felt towards the worship of Isis, with its attendant 
deceptions and wickedness, and she could scarcely 
command herself sufficiently to go openly through 
the role of her high priesthood. On the eighth day 
her release, as she judged, arrived ; and she descended 
this time without Sappho into the caverns, resolving to 
communicate her whole past history to the astrologer 
Elbaram, and seek counsel from his wisdom and the 


TTbe 5ron Chamber 


203 


lore of the stars for the means of escaping from a 
bondage which she now felt to be a shame and a sin. 

Elbaram had appointed the time of their meeting 
when they parted, and Euphrosyne was surprised 
to find that the half study, half laboratory where 
she was always at first received was empty. The 
astrologer had never before failed in an appointment ; 
and she was wondering at the cause, when Zeroah 
entered, and bent low before her. 

“ Where is the sage, O Zeroah, the wise Chaldean 
Elbaram ? ” she inquired. “ He bade me come here 
at this hour.” 

“ He sleeps, priestess,” replied Zeroah gloomily. 

“Sleeps! so early! Thinkest thou, O magician, 
I had best return, or shall I wait here until he 
wakens ? ” 

“ He will never wake again. It is useless to wait, 
O priestess.” 

“Never wake again!” repeated Euphrosyne in 

great agitation. “ Canst thou mean No ! no ! 

it cannot be— say it is not death, magician.” 

“ His God hath stricken him, priestess. It is death. 
Wilt thou see him ? ” 

“ Yes, lead me to him.” 

She followed Zeroah in silence, so overwhelmed 
with grief she did not perceive that the way he was 
taking was new to her. 

At last the sorcerer opened the door of a small 
apartment, where on a low bed the wise Israelite of 
Chaldea lay seemingly in a profound sleep. 

“ It is only sleep, it must be only sleep,” exclaimed 
Euphrosyne, bending over the couch. “ Oh, seer, oh, 
sage, beloved and wise, awake and answer me ! ” 

She placed her hand gently upon his forehead, then 


204 


5b e Stanbs HI one 


drew it hastily away as if she had received a shock. 
Elbaram had been dead some hours. 

" Oh, sage, oh, guide and father, loved and lost, 
why hast thou left me ? ” and she again bent down 
and shed tears upon the dead man’s face. 

Zeroah stood by in sullen silence. 

“ When did this happen ? ” Euphrosyne at length 
demanded of the sorcerer. 

“ I know not. How could I tell ? When at early 
dawn I came as usual to call him to ascend and watch 
the sunrise, I found — this.” 

Euphrosyne looked attentively at the still re- 
cumbent figure, and sharp suspicions came to her ; 
but she saw no proof of foul play in the clear skin 
and composed limbs of the dead man. 

“ I kept him for thee, priestess, to bid him a last 
farewell,” observed Zeroah respectfully. “ By-and-by, 
his people will come and bury him, after their 
customs.” 

“ I will join with them. I will follow him to his 
last home,” said Euphrosyne. 

“ Nay, that is impossible. Elbaram was a Hebrew, 
and the presence of a Gentile following their dead 
would be an abomination to this proud and haughty 
people.” 

“ Then farewell, Elbaram, farewell, thou truest and 
wisest of men,” sighed Euphrosyne. “ Would that 
I knew where thou art gone so that I might follow 
thee ! ” 

She took one more last long look, and then turned 
to go away. At the door she perceived herself at 
fault as to locality, and she knew too well the dangers 
of the place to venture forth alone. 

“ Magician,” she said courteously, “ wilt thou 


Zhc Jron Chamber 


205 


please to conduct me to the sage’s private room, as 
from thence I can easily find my way up to the 
temple ? ” 

He made no reply, but took up the lamp he had 
set down upon a stool, and led Euphrosyne back to 
the study where she and the astrologer had spent so 
many happy hours together. Here she at once began 
to assume the wrappings she wore on leaving the 
temple, whilst Zeroah meditated how he could con- 
trive to obtain the girdle without violence. Although 
the nature of his regard for the priestess had become 
brutalised, he still earnestly desired to avoid a struggle 
or quarrel. 

“ Priestess,” he stammered, as she turned to the 
door, “when I parted from Elbaram last night he 
earnestly enjoined me to request the loan of the 
girdle thou wearest, that its virtue might restore 
health to his favourite attendant, who is sick unto 
death.” 

There was a clumsy air of untruth about this request 
and Zeroah’s manner of making it that rendered 
Euphrosyne suspicious. 

“ How knewest thou,” she asked, “ that there was 
virtue in my girdle? Who told thee so, magician?” 

“ Elbaram knew of its virtue, or I conclude he 
would not have named it,” was Zeroah’s reply ; adding 
sullenly, “ surely thou wilt not refuse the last request 
of thy master, priestess, even if the poor man’s need 
touches thee not. May I take the girdle to him ? ” 

“ No,” she answered curtly, “ I never part with this 
girdle.” 

“Not even for the sake of thy dead friend, 
priestess ? ” 

“ No, not at the request and not for the sake of any 


206 


Sbe Stanbs Hlone 


one, dead or living,” she said, hastening to the door, 
for there was something in Zeroah’s look and bearing 
that alarmed her. 

With a hoarse yell the sorcerer leapt at one bound 
between herself and the door, confronting her, and 
screaming, “ Give me the girdle, or I will take it from 
thee by force.” 

In a moment Euphrosyne had drawn the dagger 
from her hair, which, on pretence of fastening it, had 
often proved her protection amidst the dangers that 
surrounded her. Disappointed lovers, envious priests 
and priestesses, and fanatic worshippers, often 
threatened the life which, but for her personal courage 
— and no countryman of hers who defended or fell 
at Thermopylae bore a braver heart than she — would 
long ago have been sacrificed. 

In another moment Zeroah had snatched the 
weapon from her, and she felt how utterly helpless 
she was against the enormous strength of this hunch- 
back, whose arms and legs were more like knots of 
muscles than limbs, and whose broad, brawny body 
could almost have borne the weight of Atlas’s world. 

“ The girdle ! Give me the girdle ! ” cried Zeroah, 
with the bellow of a wild bull rather than the voice 
of a man. “ The girdle first ! ” he added, losing all 
self-control, “ and thyself afterwards.” 

In his excitement the magician let go his hold 
upon Euphrosyne, who, notwithstanding her secret 
fear, had not lost presence of mind, and taking instant 
advantage of this imprudence, she contrived to get 
behind a table near the door, upon which she per- 
ceived two balls she knew to be filled with a deadly 
explosive Elbaram had told her would, in sufficient 
quantity and force, clear a battle-field of life and 


XEbe 3 ron Chamber 207 

leave humanity no alternative save peace or 
annihilation. 

Euphrosyne seized these balls in an instant, slipped 
each hand through the rings that served as handles, 
and placing each forefinger upon the spring of death, 
she pointed one ball at the head and the other at the 
heart of the sorcerer. 

“ Knowest thou the power I hold in my hands, 
magician ? ” she cried. “ Ay, I perceive that thou 
knowest” — for Zeroah’s sallow face turned leaden 
as he saw himself thus covered. “ Advance one 
step, and I scatter thee to nothingness ; and listen ! 
rather than either I or this sacred girdle should 
fall into another’s possession, I would turn these 
weapons against myself and follow thee to the 
Shades.” 

The sorcerer stood silent, confounded, conquered. 
What worth was there in the brute force of a strong 
man, when a weak woman, by a mere pressure of 
her finger, could put out his life for ever ? “ Know- 

ledge is greater than strength,” he muttered ; then to 
Euphrosyne he said, — 

“ Priestess, hold. I submit. I was mad. I knew 
not what I said. Keep thy girdle. I no longer 
desire it, or — thyself.” 

Zeroah spoke truly. A conviction was forced 
upon him that the priestess was under the protection 
of a higher power, and that not even Beelzebub 
himself could gain the charmed girdle or bestow 
this woman upon him ; and with this persuasion the 
savage love he felt for Euphrosyne was changed into 
a fierce, ungovernable hate, thirsting for vengeance. 

Prompted by this evil passion, a dark design 
entered Zeroah’s mind. 


208 


Sbe Stanfce Hlone 


“ Ay,” he muttered, “ it was the girdle first and 
the woman after ; now it shall be the revenge first 
and the girdle afterwards.” 

“ Open the door towards the temple steps, magician,” 
said Euphrosyne, still holding the balls whilst con- 
fronting him, “ and go before me with a light.” 

He did so, and started back as if in surprise. 

“ Thou canst not return this way, priestess ; the 
stairs are broken and impassable.” 

Euphrosyne saw before her a great chasm. The 
sorcerer had ordered the slaves to remove the steps 
immediately after the descent of the priestess. 

“ I can lead thee by another way,” said Zeroah 
surlily. 

“ I do not trust thee, magician.” 

“ Thou needest not to trust , priestess,” was the 
answer, accompanied with a significant glance at 
the weapons in her hands. 

“ No, I am at thy mercy,” added Zeroah, with a 
mocking laugh he could not control, and which 
Euphrosyne fancied she heard ominously echoed from 
behind him. 

Zeroah took up the lamp and passed on ; and 
Euphrosyne followed closely, resolving to show no 
mercy at the first sign of treachery. 

Presently he turned round. 

“ Here is the portal, pjriestess. A few steps will 
lead thee upwards into the avenue of the sphinxes. 
I will place the lamp upon the ground to guide thy 
steps. Farewell, priestess, I pray thee pardon my 
presumption.” There was a covert sneer in the 
sorcerer’s voice, and had Euphrosyne looked she 
would have seen a fiendish joy upon his face. 

She stooped to take up the lamp, for it was very 


TEbe 3ron Chamber 


209 


dark before her, and as she did so a sudden shock 
from behind caused her to stumble and forced the 
balls from her hands. They rolled away, and then, 
with clanging force that echoed along the subter- 
ranean vaults, a great iron door closed behind her. 

She turned round in stricken terror. The lamp 
she had lifted with the fingers free from the ball had 
been dashed from her as well as the weapons ; but 
by the faint light of another on the floor she found 
herself in a moderately sized apartment, in which 
there appeared to be neither door nor window. The 
walls were seemingly of iron, thin-plated, smooth, 
and not of much thickness ; for as she struck them 
with the edge of the lamp they yielded and vibrated 
at the contact. In one corner there was a low stool, 
and beside it, on the floor, a cake of bread and a jar 
of water. 

“ I am a prisoner,” she shudderingly thought ; “ yet 
they mean me to live, else why this food ? ” 

She sat down on the stool, with as much patience 
as she could command. An hour passed, an eternity 
to her in it, save that it had a beginning but no end. 
It was useless crying for help. Those only would 
hear who had imprisoned her ; and she knew no god 
upon whom she had faith enough to call. 

The lamp went out. The silence was as complete 
as that of the tomb, and was rendered more horrible 
by the dense darkness ; and Euphrosyne began to 
find that the atmosphere, which had at first been 
close, was becoming oppressive, and she breathed 
with effort. 

At last the darkness and silence was broken by 
a thin thread of light and a draught of air, together 
with a sliding, grating sound. She welcomed this 

14 


210 


Sbe Stanbs Blone 


change as a relief, for it gave her back breath and 
denoted human vicinity. 

At intervals these sights and sounds were repeated, 
but after awhile they ceased to calm her anxiety, 
and a great restlessness fell upon her. She began 
to pace backwards and forwards with outstretched 
hands, in order to guard her from the walls. Then 
to vary this resource, she thought of counting her 
steps, and from time to time she grew puzzled, for 
she could not bring them right, and she soon observed 
that they were always wrong after the sliding noise 
and the admission of light and air. 

All at once the horrible truth was manifest to the 
unhappy captive. She was doomed to the same fate 
as the cruel Potiphar had inflicted upon his tortured 
wife. She was in the closing iron chamber of death, 
perhaps the very same in which, hundreds upon 
hundreds of years before, the erring woman had 
expiated her sin. 

Yet, with the fine enduring courage of her tem- 
perament, Euphrosyne would not give way to despair 
until she had proved the fact. 

She noted that after each interval of relief, which 
now occurred more frequently than at first, about 
half a foot was lost in the length of the chamber. 
Next she measured across, to find the same loss in 
the width, and, to her even greater horror, she found 
she could touch, with her upraised arm, the ceiling 
or roof, which, when she entered, had been high 
above her head. 

Euphrosyne could doubt no longer, and then a 
question passed through her mind. How could she 
have so offended this magician that he should wreak 
such awful vengeance upon her ? 


Zbc 3roit Chamber 


2 1 1 


The struggles for breath now became torture ; 
surely it must soon be over. She gasped, she suffo- 
cated. “ O Zeus, mercy ! ” she cried. “ Kill me and 
let this agony cease.” 

No — a fresh rush of air and light revived her. 
Inhuman reprieve! She threw herself upon the 
ground, and gasped in anguish, — 

“ Unknown God ! Man of Sorrows, help ! ” 

The next moment she sat up, and exclaimed, “ O 
Zeus, I breathe ! ” 

Euphrosyne raised herself from the ground in 
amaze. Was she dreaming again? for in the near 
distance she saw, or thought that she saw, a form like 
those in her never-to-be-forgotten dream — resembling 
those who stood guardians at the wicket-gate — and 
she heard, or thought that she heard, a voice of 
celestial music address her in these words, — 

“ Euphrosyne, He whose name is written upon thy 
girdle remembers thee.” 

Euphrosyne never knew if it was human or spiritual 
agency which had effected her deliverance. She 
could never afterwards determine whether the sight 
and voice she saw and heard, or imagined that she 
saw and heard, was a vision or a reality. All she 
did certainly know was, that one of the iron sides 
of the prison room lay flat upon the ground, as 
though fallen or wrenched from its hinges, and that 
she could breathe and was free. 


CHAPTER XX 
THE BEGGAR OF ARLES 
IGHT upon the Nile. The sun has gone down 



1 i beyond the Libyan Desert, and the blue star- 
pierced sky darkened to the beauteous flint hue — 
sometimes but rarely seen in a woman’s eye — lends 
a deeper shade to the pale green water. The lazy 
river reptiles crawl from their sandbank beds to take 
their evening plunges in the cooling flood ; white 
water birds seek their homes in the aits, and groups 
of palm-trees, dotting the yellow rocks and banks, 
flutter their fanlike leaves to welcome the whispering 
night breeze. Beautiful beyond word or colour- 
painting is night upon the Nile. 

Eight hours had passed since Euphrosyne had been 
released from the iron chamber in the vaults of the 
temple of Isis, and she awoke from a long slumber, 
to find herself lying upon a mat in a small and 
apparently deserted hut near the bank of the river. 
No one was near ; a pillow was beneath her head, 
and a cake of bread, a leaf filled with dates, and a 
jar of water lay beside her. She felt completely 
rested, and after having refreshed herself with the 
food provided, went to the door of the hut, 
whence she perceived a company of merchants and 
travellers approaching. As they passed she ascer- 


212 


Ube Beggar of Hrles *13 

tained they were journeying to Alexandria, and 
having money about her, and being disguised by 
the wrappings she wore, there was no difficulty 
in joining the caravan and being provided with a 
camel and attendance. 

On arriving at the city, she at once went to the 
Jewish agents of her kinsman. Knowing their trust- 
worthiness, she confided to them as much of her 
story as was needful, and cast herself upon their 
protection. They advised her to remain quietly in 
the seclusion so easy for an Oriental woman in 
Alexandria, and promised to convey a message to 
Sappho, and contrive her escape from Thebes. 
Sappho soon joined Euphrosyne, and told her of 
the consternation in the temple when the magician, 
with rent garments and wild lamentations, appeared 
above ground with the intelligence that Elbaram 
the astrologer and the high priestess of Isis had 
been treacherously slain in the catacombs of the 
mummies, and their bodies stolen. None dared 
descend into these dangerous regions to investigate 
the truth of this statement. The priests consulted 
together, and agreed that there was no alternative but 
to accept the version of the tragedy given by Zeroah. 
The fact was softened for the public ear. Another 
high priestess was elected, but she lacked the ability ^ 
and wealth of Euphrosyne, and this temple of Isis 
soon fell out of religious fashion. 

Euphrosyne and Sappho led a very secluded life 
until the rumours of the murdered sage and priestess 
became a tale of the past, and then the former began 
to think' of making plans for the future. 

“ Sappho,” she said one day to her faithful con- 
fidante, “ dost thou remember when I lectured in 


214 


Sbe Stanbs Blone 


the Academy theatre at Athens, and nearly lost my 
life by attacking mankind’s false ideas of glory, and 
when I also declared that the only true glory was 
to put yourself in your fellow’s place, and act towards 
him as you would he should deal with yourself ? ” 

“ I remember it only too well,” sighed Sappho. 

“ Since I have worn this girdle, freedwoman, scales 
seem daily falling from the eyes of my mind ; and 
I see it is not enough to think and speak good 
thoughts and words, but we must do good deeds. 
I have been an unjust and selfish being all my life, 
dear friend, and in no act more so than in my conduct 
towards my husband, Pontius Pilate.” 

“ Is it possible, my foster-daughter, that thou art 
going to return to the noble governor ? ” 

“Never as his wife, Sappho. That contract was 
broken by himself ; but I sinned against him. Yes, 
the sin of the Hebrew book is the word that best 
signifies wrong-doing. I sinned, I say, against this 
Roman by not putting myself in his place. I left 
him without warning of my desertion. I took away 
all the portable wealth — equally his and mine — on 
which I could lay my hands. He had committed 
from weakness, rather than from will, an awful crime ; 
yet I never offered to comfort him, or attempted to 
aid and support him, in its terrible consequences ; 
I only thought of myself, and thus I sinned against 
him.” 

“He certainly loved thee with a great love,” 
observed Sappho reflectively. 

“True, and what was my return? Leaving him in 
hard indifference in his hour of need. Had he treated 
me thus, should I not have had a right to complain ? 
Ah, I never once thought of that.” She paused, and 


Zbc Beggar of Hrles 


2IS 


fell into deep thought ; then rousing herself, she said, 
“ Another wrong I did this Roman, Sappho,” and 
a deep glow of emotion mounted to her forehead. 
“ I never told thee this, my friend, but I heard that 
Aurelius had been seen in Jerusalem, and it was not 
my fault I did not become an unfaithful as well as 
an ungrateful wife ; for, unknown to thee, I set a 
search for him, and so great was my unhappiness 
after the first perjury of the governor, that I meant 
to fly to and with the centurion, if he would have 
taken me.” 

Sappho remembered her own adventure, and her 
face burnt as hotly as that of her mistress ; but 
mastering her confusion, she merely inquired, — 

“And did thy spies find him, lady?” 

“ No. It must have been a false report ; Aurelius 
was not in Jerusalem, and I was saved the shame, 
but not the sin.” 

“ Nay, thou wert guiltless, for thou and he never 
met,” remonstrated Sappho. 

“Was that my merit? O my friend, something” 
— touching her girdle — “ tells me that if one desires 
to sin, it is sin ; although lack of opportunity pre- 
vents its accomplishment.” 

“ Alack ! ” cried Sappho, “ if this be so, who 
amongst us all is clean of life ? ” 

“ I begin to think none are clean of life,” sighed 
Euphrosyne. “ I am very sure I am not.” 

After a short silence Euphrosyne spoke again. 

“ I am told by my Jewish money guardians that, 
after his dreadful deed and my desertion, Pontius, 
my husband, grew reckless and cruel. He oppressed 
the people, shed blood, and took bribes. At last his 
misdoings reached the ears of Augustus, and the 


2l6 


Sbe Stands Hlone 


governor was deprived of his office, his property- 
confiscated, and himself banished to Gaul, where 
he is now living in obscurity and poverty. Sappho, 
we must go and seek him.” 

It was a festa of the goddess Flora at Arles* in 
Southern Gaul. Floral offerings were everywhere, 
a “ battle of flowers,” in modern phrase, was con- 
tinually raging. Every one bore blossoms in some 
fashion or another — in wreaths, garlands, bouquets ; 
the latter carried in baskets, and flung as a jest 
or a salute to foes or friends. The litter of a great 
Roman lady — for the number of her guard and 
bearers denoted a person of importance — was making 
its way through the throng towards the temple of 
Flora. Her attendants had difficulty in clearing the 
way, the crowd was so packed. At each stoppage 
she flung flowers to the well-dressed people and 
coins to the beggars, who filled the air with their 
supplicating whines ; and when she reached the 
broad steps of the temple, the bands of these sup- 
pliants, who had followed the litter, clamoured more 
loudly than ever for alms as she was about to alight. 

The rumour flew that she was beautiful as well 
as rich ; and the mob, both well attired and ragged, 
pressed near her to gaze, only to be disappointed ; 
for she wore a bl&ck half-mask, which effectually 
concealed her face. As the lady was about to 
descend, her ear caught the cry for alms in words 
of pure Latin, pronounced in a cultured tone, not- 
withstanding the loud insolence of the beggarly de- 
mand. She quickly turned in the direction, to see 
a large-framed, fearfully emaciated man, clothed in 
rags — which he carried with the air of a senator in 


Ube Beggar of Brles 


217 


his toga— -dexterously catch some pieces of meat 
and bread thrown from an adjacent house, and then 
securely tying them up in a corner of his miserable 
coverings, he hastened away. 

The lady in the litter called one of her attendants, 
and directed him to follow this man, find out his 
resting- or hiding-place, and bring her word. She 
then returned to her home to await his report. 
Having received the desired information she again 
entered her litter, ordering that a larger one for a 
man’s occupation should follow her own. 

Euphrosyne’s search was over. Throughout Gaul 
she had wandered, now finding, now losing a clue, 
until at last she had reason to believe Pilate was 
hidden near Arles. She hired a villa in its immediate 
neighbourhood, employed secret spies, and now at 
last, in this wretched outcast, she recognised her 
husband, the late proud procurator of Judea. 

The guide led her to a ruined hovel on the edge 
of an olive wood, where he had discovered the shelter 
of the wretched man. She alighted, and desiring her 
servants to keep near under shelter of the trees, she 
approached fhe hut alone. A strange noise within 
caused her to pause on the threshold. 

The sounds were half human, half brutal. Euphro- 
syne looked cautiously through a hole in the wall, 
and beheld a savage contest between a man and a 
wolf for the possession of one of the pieces of meat 
which had fallen from the rags of the former. 

The man, although half starved and weakened by 
long privation, was of powerful frame and splendid 
physical courage, and the beast was of the largest 
size and most savage ferocity. For awhile the fight 
was nearly equal, but at last the man succeeded in 


2l8 


She Stands Hlone 


picking up a knife lying upon the ground, and finished 
the contest by plunging it into the animal’s side ; 
then, with a half snarl, half roar, the more fitting for 
a brute than a human utterance, he collected the 
scattered food and devoured it ravenously. 

“ And this,” murmured Euphrosyne, " was my hus- 
band ! ” Then the something within her whispered : 
“ If thou thyself didst not bring him to this, what 
didst thou do to avert it ? ” 

When the meal was finished, Pilate lay down upon 
the floor, rolled himself as best he could in his 
wretched clothing, and fell asleep. 

When Euphrosyne was satisfied .this sleep was 
deep, she called her servants, and bade them gently 
lift the slumberer and place him in the vacant litter. 
As soon as they reached the villa, she directed them 
to lay him upon a couch, and when he awoke to 
conduct him to the bath, and garments fit for a 
person of rank were to be ready for his use ; and 
afterwards she ordered that a supper should be 
served, which would satisfy even a Roman’s fasti- 
dious appetite. When he inquired who provided all 
this he was to be informed “ It was the lady Claudia 
Procula, who would presently wait upon her lord.” 

All this was exactly carried out, and Pilate, 
refreshed with sleep, and still more by the luxurious 
bath so dear to Roman habits, clothed once more 
in purple and fine linen, and fed as Caesar might 
have been, threw himself upon a couch, and waited, 
in longing expectancy, for the crowning joy that 
was so near at hand ; for his wife, the first woman 
of the world in his estimation, was coming back 
to him. 

He fell into a train of thinking and wondering 


Ube 3Beggat of Hrles 


219 


about her. More than a decade had passed by 
since that dread day when they two parted. How 
had time dealt with her ? It had treated him badly. 
It had ploughed his brow with deep furrows, it had 
fixed its marks round eye and lip, had silvered his 
hair, bent his shoulders, and sapped his vigour of 
limb ; nay, worse, it had enfeebled his mind, soured 
his temper, tortured his soul with regrets and remorse, 
and made him an old man ere he had well passed 
middle age — yes, time had served him thus. How 
had it treated her? 

As if in answer to the question, the portiere of the 
door was drawn aside, and his wife stood before him. 

He started up in a kind of trembling amaze as 
he gazed at her. Changed she was indeed ; but not 
by time, if age and fading is implied by time’s 
work. Small wonder that he was astonished. The 
dignity of the priesthood, the wisdom from the stars, 
the magic of Egypt, and, above all, the holy inspira- 
tion of the sacred girdle, had given to Euphrosyne a 
beauty and grandeur which surpassed even her former 
loveliness. The trinity of body, mind, and spirit con- 
stituting her personality had so developed that the 
astonished Pilate beheld her whom he had learnt to 
look upon as perfect transformed in a creation of a 
higher order and plane of being. 

But Pilate was still the proud and arrogant Roman, 
and recovering himself he came forward and ex- 
claimed in transport, — 

“ Claudia. My wife ! My queen ! At last thou 
hast come back to me ! ” 

“ Stand off, Pontius,” she answered, raising her hand 
as if to divide them. “ I wronged thee once, and 
am come to make restitution.” 


220 


Sbe Stanbs HI one 


“ Speak not of the past, O Claudia beloved. Let 
it be for ever accursed and buried out of our sight. 
Yet I would bear its burden, were it twice the 
weight and twice the duration, for the sake of this 
moment of reunion,” cried Pilate with passionate 
vehemence. 

She stretched her arms behind her, and turned 
round, facing him so that he might have an uninter- 
rupted view of her person. “ Read, Pontius,” she said 
solemnly. “ Read upon this girdle the words which 
thou and I wrote on that terrible day when thou didst 
deliver that just Man to death. That deed cancelled 
our union as husband and wife for ever ; but I did 
wrong to leave thee as I did, and I now offer thee 
the half of my wealth, if thou wilt grant me freedom 
by the Roman law of divorce.” 

“ Never,” cried Pilate in a tone of violent fury. 
“ Thou art my wife. I love thee and have all rights 
in thee. Thou shalt never be divorced by me.” 

“ Listen to reason, Pontius,” she remonstrated 
quietly. “ I do but ask a form of thee, for I will 
never again be thy wife. I will never shelter under 
thy roof, or eat at thy table, or lie within thy 
bosom ; but I will share my gold, nay, I will yield 
it all, if thou wilt grant me the public freedom of 
divorce.” 

“It is a generous offer of what is not thine to 
give,” sneered Pilate. “ Thou are my wife, and thou 
belongest to me, and all that thou hast is mine, as 
thy husband’s right.” 

“ Not so,” she answered calmly. “ My possessions 
are so secured, and unavailable for thee, that at a 
word from me thou wilt find they do not exist. I 
have foreseen and provided for this contingency. 


221 


Ube Beggar of Brles 

Besides, thou art in disgrace with Caesar, and anything 
thou holdest thyself would be confiscated.” 

“ I see it all,” muttered Pilate in sullen rage. “ This 
is a conspiracy between thyself and Aurelius, thou 
false wife and wanton woman.” 

“Aurelius?” she spoke softly as if her thoughts 
were far away. “ Who speaks of Aurelius ? Is he 
yet alive ? ” 

In a fit of ungovernable fury Pilate advanced a 
step or two with clenched, uplifted hand. He would 
have liked to have killed her on the spot. She 
stepped quietly aside, and he regained his senses. 

“ Ah ! ” he cried, “ I did well to banish this lover 
of thine to Galilee whilst thou wert in Judea. I did 
well not to trust thee, woman.” 

“In Galilee,” she whispered, “and I in Jerusalem 
and Caesarea. So near and yet so far off. In 
Galilee ! ” she repeated. 

“Yes, most excellent lady,” returned Pilate with 
malicious pleasure. “ As thou sayest, so near and 
yet so far off. Art thou not ready to weep at thy 
lost opportunities ? He in Capernaum thou in ” 

“ Where is he now ? ” she interrupted, so suddenly, 
Pilate was taken off his guard, and answered before 
he had time to reflect. 

“ In Britain, if he has not already fallen under the 
clubs of the barbarians.” 

“ In Britain,” she said in the same far-away tone. 
“ So near and yet so far away.” 

“ Cease this hypocrisy, woman,” cried the infuriated 
Pilate. “ Confess that thou earnest here to obtain thy 
divorce from me in order to join Aurelius with it in 
thy hand. Confess, shameless as thou art, that thou 
still lovest him.” 


222 


Sbe Stanbs Hlone 


“ I will confess the truth,” she replied simply, yet 
with suppressed emotion. “ I loved Aurelius the 
centurion from the first moment I saw him, or rather 
from the first moment I heard of him. I hold him 
to be my true and only husband. I have never 
ceased to love him, and I shall love him to the death. 
He was to me as a god compared to all the other men 
amongst whom I lived, nobler, greater, purer, better 
I glory in loving him.” 

“ The chaste Maid of Athens makes a faithful and 
modest wife,” said Pilate bitterly. 

“Pontius,” she said imploringly, taking no notice 
of his last remark, “ be pitiful to me, and give me 
thy divorce.” 

“ Never,” he furiously answered. “If thou wilt not 
be my wife, thou shalt never be the wife of another 
man. I swear this by the nine high gods of 
Rome.” 

“Then farewell,” she answered. “Yet still I must 
atone to thee. This villa, the slaves, and all it con- 
tains is thine in my name, with means to carry it all 
on. I say in my name, else it will be forfeited to 
Caesar ; and — and, Pontius, if at any time thou 
desirest my help in trouble, my presence in sickness, 
I will come to thee. Otherwise our ways lie opposite. 
Farewell.” So she turned away, left the villa, and 
Pilate was alone. 

For a short while he enjoyed his luxurious sur- 
roundings, doubly prized after the wretched penury 
into which he had fallen. But, by-and-by, satiety 
followed continual indulgence, and his punishment 
began. The struggles for bare existence, and the 
privations of poverty, had warded off the torments 
of the mind, which now had leisure to brood upon 


223 


Uhc Beggar of Hrles 

itself. The remembrance of his monstrous crime 
haunted him like his shadow. In waking vision and 
sleeping dreams the thorn-crowned Monarch, the 
mock purple robe, and reed-held sceptre of the “ Ecce 
Homo ” stood beside or before him. He shut his 
eyes, but their retina retained the picture. He 
turned his head, the terrible semblance turned also. 
There was no escape, for he could not escape from 
himself. 

The miserable man remembered with bitter despair 
the warning pressing upon his spirit when there was 
no answer to his awe-excited question, “Who art 
Thou ? ” He shuddered as he recollected the shrinking 
fear he experienced when the Prisoner spoke of His 
Father’s angelic legions. Every word, every look 
of the just, mysterious Stranger, every detail of the 
judicial scene, came back to him with awful memory. 
Could he but recall that trial, that judgment-seat, 
how differently would he now act his part. 

Fits of despairing melancholy, alternating with 
paroxysms of violent delirium, would overwhelm 
him ; and then, in comparatively lucid intervals, he 
would seek relief in the opiates of pleasure, sending 
for singing men and dancing women. He drained 
the wine-cup, and tarried at the feast. It was all 
in vain. The spectral sword ever hung tremblingly 
over his head, the shadowy writing on the wall 
always stared him in the face. At length he be- 
came the most pitiable of all madmen, the conscious 
one. 

In one of his last and worst attacks, he thought of 
Euphrosyne’s offer to come to him, and he sent for 
her. She came at once, and at first relief seemed to 
come with her. Fearless and capable, she controlled 


224 


Sbe Stanbs Blone 


the raving maniac as none other had been so well 
able to do, and a partial recovery followed. 

But the reaction to comparative sanity was more 
terrible to her than violence — lamentations over 
the water spilt upon the ground, reproaches against 
her for having forsaken him, reviling the gods for 
not aiding him, and herself for not consoling him, 
were mingled with an unutterable dread of coming 
unknown woe. 

At last the end came. One dreadful night the 
scene was so unendurable, every slave fled from the 
villa, and Euphrosyne was left alone with her hus- 
band. Some hours after a few trembling attendants 
found their way back and re-entered the house. The 
lady Claudia, as she was styled, met them, pale as 
a shadow, with a look of horror fixed upon her face, 
as she pointed to the door of their master’s chamber, 
which was barred on the inside. They forced the 
entrance, to find Pilate had only left behind him 
his form of clay, for he had with his own hand 
put an end to his earthly life of intolerable anguish. 
Like the first murderer, his punishment had been 
greater than he could bear. 


CHAPTER XXI 


NORCEA 

T HE centurion Aurelius and his band of veterans 
were among the first of the Roman soldiers 
who landed beneath the white cliffs of Albion, on 
the occasion of its second invasion under Claudius 
Caesar. 

He was soon appointed military tribune, and 
governor of a province on the north bank of the 
Thames ; and a camp was formed, and a villa built 
for the general on the site now occupied by the 
ruins of the old feudal castle, situated in the 
Salvation Army colony of Hadleigh, near the present 
town of Leigh in Essex. 

It was an important position, for near the camp 
there stood a Druid temple, on the spot where a 
barrack of this same Army is now erected ; and 
this temple was the centre of continual though 
secret plots of revolt against the invaders ; for its 
priests were well aware that Roman supremacy 
would ring the knell of their own extinction. 

A chief instigator of these intrigues was Norcea, 
only daughter of the Archdruid of Britain, and the 
head of its hierachy, who lived at Mona in Anglesea. 

This young Amazon, now about twenty years of 
age, was dominated by two strong passions : a 
225 15 


226 


Sbe Stanbs Hlone 


bigoted devotion to the mystic faith of her fathers 
and a burning indignation against the invaders of 
her country. Like another Joan of Arc, she longed 
to enter, nay, lead the fight against these Roman 
foes, and believed that the gods of the sacred oaks 
had sent her on the mission of liberating the land. 
The hated conquerors had before her birth been 
chased from Britain ; they had now returned, and 
must be expelled a second time. 

She persuaded her father to allow her to come 
south to the seat of the war ; and as his younger 
brother was priest of the temple near the camp of 
Aurelius, and her grandmother, who had the reputa- 
tion of being a witch of occult powers, was attached 
to the service of this temple, Norcea elected to cast 
in her lot with these relatives. 

The soil of Albion has ever received and retained 
the footprints of liberty. Its very air is the oxygen 
of freedom. In the darkest hour of Africa’s dark 
sons the slave had but to land upon our shores and 
he was free ; and to the lasting honour of the men of 
all ages and races upon our island — Briton, Dane, 
Anglo-Saxon, and Norman — it can be said that they 
never oppressed their women. Even when the painted, 
naked barbarians rushed with their clubs upon the 
soldiers of Caesar, and the chief product of the land 
was hips and haws, there were no miserable squaws, 
no degraded gins, no wretched Hindoos or imprisoned 
Moslems, amo: g the British barbarian wives. They 
were the companions of their lords in war and peace 
— nay, more, were not even excluded from throned 
rule, and, from Boadicea to Victoria, the successful, 
beneficent sovereignty of woman has been — with 
scarce an exception — proudly borne by Britons. 



NORCEA 

























‘ 

uj 






IRorcea 


227 


Thus, notwithstanding Norcea’s youth and sex, her 
influence with the tribes of her people was consider- 
able, and her rank as the great Archdruid’s 
daughter of course increased her authority. The 
Britons had learnt the wisdom of avoiding the 
disciplined and conquering Romans in open warfare ; 
and in the skirmishes and ambushes of their native 
tactics Norcea took a prominent part. She was 
dressed on these occasions as a youth, with the sole 
exception of a blue fillet round her head, denoting her 
maidenhood, and she wore a sprig of dried mistletoe 
in the centre, in emblem of her priestly parentage. 
Her features were handsome, and their expression, 
although bold, was far from immodest. Her long, 
coarse black hair hung around her shoulders, with no 
attempt at womanly arrangement ; and her figure, 
tall and somewhat stalwart, displayed the limbs of an 
athlete rather than the rounded contours of a woman. 
She wore her vest and tunic in one, made from the 
wolf- or bear-skins she had herself slain, and this reach- 
ing from her shoulders to a little below the knees, left 
the arms also bare ; for since the Julian invasion, 
the Britons were no longer half-naked savages, but 
clothed themselves in civilised fashion, the men in 
tunics, the women in long blue garments. 

Norcea was a daring hunter, she could steer and 
propel her coracle as skilfully as a man, could spear 
fish or fling a light flint hatchet at a bird, or drive a 
spiked chariot as well or better than even the warriors 
of her nation, and in the guerilla war of the Britons 
none could hang upon the skirts of the enemy, 
cut off stragglers, or attack under cover with such 
dangerous dexterity as the Druid’s daughter. 

She marked with jealous eyes the superiority of 


228 


Sbe Stanbs Blone 


the Romans in the art and discipline of war, and 
was filled with rage when against her will she 
secretly admitted that they must be conquerors in 
the end. So she urged more and more upon her 
chiefs the value of ambushes, pitfalls, surprises, and 
retreats — to which the wooded morassy country lent 
itself so kindly ; she would have them harass the 
enemy and obstruct his progress by entrenching 
themselves in mud forts and almost impregnable 
fortifications ; from these they could make sallies, 
and then retreat fighting in Parthian fashion. 

After a time her sight and jealously were con- 
centrated upon one figure in the Roman army, the 
chief tribune, or, we should say general, who was 
the virtual ruler of this division of her country, and 
whose camp lay so near the temple of her father’s 
brother. She marked the grand presence of Aurelius, 
a soldier among soldiers, his calm and absolute 
command, a chief among chiefs. The band sur- 
rounding him moved as if but one man, the cohorts 
obeying him were but the breath of his will. “ And 
this is the foe of my people,” she cried to herself. “ 1 
hate him ! I hate him ! I hate him ! ” 

It became a monomania with her. She thought 
of nothing else night and day, in dreams through one, 
in thought through the other. Strive as she might 
she could not banish this warlike Roman from her 
being. “ I hate him ! ” she repeated. “ He is Britain’s 
enemy. Were he removed we could drive out the 
invaders.” She strove in many an encounter to get 
near and attack this great chief, but never succeeded. 
‘‘Yet I will wait and watch,” she muttered, “and will 
save my country yet.” 

At last her opportunity came. A strong fortifica- 


IWorcea 


229 


tion was taken by the Romans, and Aurelius and his 
soldiers camped within it at night, intending the 
next day to raise and destroy it. A small sleeping 
tent was set up for the general, outside which two 
sentinels paced their noiseless watch, and the rest of 
the attacking force were disposed at a short distance, 
in and around the fort. 

Norcea had witnessed the defence and capture of 
the place, and she noted the disposition of the troops 
and the tent of the great captain ; moreover, she was 
perfectly acquainted with the locality and secret 
passages of the fortress ; and she at once went to 
the British chief, and offered, if he would accord her 
twelve warriors, whom she would herself choose, to 
lead them to the sleeping Roman chief, and deliver 
him a prisoner into their h^nds. 

All was arranged as she desired, and at a given 
signal the Britons were to ascend the steps that 
led to a concealed trap, opening under the general’s 
tent. 

With the stealthy craft of a red Indian, Norcea 
eluded the keen Roman watch, and, shielded from 
their observation by a mound close by, she contrived, 
as they turned for a moment in their march, to lift 
the canvas of the tent and creep under it. Here 
she found herself alone with the sleeping foe of her 
people. 

Aurelius lay upon the bare ground like the lowest 
soldier of his band. His toga — a civilian right as a 
patrician and a knight — was wrapped under and 
around him, but there was neither bed nor pillow for 
his weary limbs and head. Hours of unceasing 
conflict had cast him into a deep sleep. His helmet, 
breastplate, and shield lay on the ground beside him. 


230 


Sbe Stanbs Hi one 


One arm was thrown over his head ; from the hand of 
the other his sword had fallen, and its fingers were 
clasped around the centre of two crossed pieces of 
rough wood, tied together by a cord, which rested 
upon his breast. 

This was the token of his faith, the confession 
that he shared in the shame now and the glory 
hereafter of his crucified and risen Lord. For the 
early Christians, in their fear of idolatry, would not 
imitate the unequal cross-tree, but adopted these 
rude sticks of equal length, as a sign not a symbol ; 
holding that when symbolism enters into religion it 
contains the deadly germ of idolatry. 

There was a dim light from a lamp on a stool 
beside the sleeping soldier ; and Norcea could not 
resist the impulse to look upon him, so she gently 
bent over and gazed upon the slumbering face. 

He was not yet forty years of age, yet the white 
hairs exceeded the black ones on his princely head. 
Health, fortune, and success had been his from birth ; 
yet lines of care and pain and struggle on those 
noble features told the tale of a life whose prosperity 
had been heavily balanced by sorrow. Nevertheless, 
there brooded a something over that face and form 
which struck this vindictive maiden, superstitious 
in every nerve -fibre, with an awe and a longing 
she could not understand. Indeed, how could this 
pagan of the weird oaks and mystic stars under- 
stand “ the peace of God which passeth all under- 
standing ” ? 

For a short breathing-time she felt she dared not 
carry out her project, for surely something greater 
than she was watching the occupant of this lonely 
tent ; then, angry at her weakness, she rallied her 


■fi-loccea 


23I 


resolution, turned away from the sleeper, and took 
the lamp from the stool beside him. In the confusion 
of her feelings she forgot her caution, and clinked 
the lamp, which was a metal one, against the stool. 
This startled and warned her. She looked at the 
tribune. He slept still. “ All is safe,” she thought, 
and she went to the spot underneath which the trap 
opened, and began clearing away the rubbish that 
concealed it, in ignorance of the vigilant eyes which 
were watching her. 

Faint as the noise of the accident was, the guard 
had heard it, and at the moment Norcea turned 
away he was standing in the opened doorway of the 
tent. Perceiving that his general was safe, the 
soldier remained still, observing the movements of 
Norcea, who, bending down over the farther corner, 
went on removing the earth, until she uncovered 
a trap. This she raised, and whistled softly down 
the opening. 

A grasp of iron was on her wrist. The watch had 
seized her as she was lowering the lamp to guide 
the British warriors who were swarming up the steps. 
The Roman still held her with one hand, and with 
the other struck over the foremost barbarian, whose 
head was nearly on a level with the trap door ; 
then, not knowing the force behind, he closed and 
fastened down the rude but strong bolt, and still 
holding Norcea, gave a loud signal-call, which brought 
the rest of the watch to his aid. Aurelius awoke, the 
camp was aroused, and in a minute or so the tent 
was filled with soldiers. 

At a word from their general there was an in- 
stant silence, and the watch brought Norcea before 
the chief. She had recovered courage and self- 


232 


Sbe Stanbs HI one 


possession, and stood before him with a fearless air 
and dauntless mien. She was dressed like a British 
warrior, and did not on this occasion wear her maiden 
fillet ; whilst the long, almost shaggy hair, which fell 
below her shoulders, was a fashion with the men 
as well as with the women of her people. 

“ Who art thou, young man ? ” inquired the 
tribune. 

“Pardon, most excellent Aurelius,” interrupted a 
centurion who had been attentively observing Norcea, 
“ this prisoner is no other than the daughter of the 
Archdruid of Britain ; and by the gods,” he added 
in a low mutter, “she is a soldier spoiled by sex.” 

“ A woman ! A maiden ! ” cried the astonished 
general, looking at Norcea and marking the athletic 
limbs and martial air belonging to her, which in 
a man he would gladly have enrolled in his own 
band. “Is it possible?” Then turning to Norcea, 
who did not understand their Latin language, he 
demanded in Celtic, — 

“ Did I hear aright ? Art thou the daughter of the 
great Archdruid, prisoner ? ” 

“I am, Roman,” she answered, poising her head 
and drawing up her frame proudly ; then, respond- 
ing rather to his thoughts than his words, she 
added, “ The men of my nation allow their women 
a voice in their councils and a place in their 
ranks.” 

Aurelius, like all truly noble men, had a deep 
reverence for women ; but this development of the 
new woman was far beyond the boundary of his 
opinions regarding her ; neither did he approve it, 
and it was in a somewhat cutting tone of sarcasm 
he inquired, — 


IRorcea 


233 


“ Is that the reason they depute the cowardly act 
of killing a man in his sleep to their women, Druid’s 
daughter ? ” 

“ All is fair In war,” she returned, in a tone as 
scornful as his own. 

Aurelius made no answer. He turned aside and 
consulted a few minutes with the centurions. “ Of 
course this maiden is but a tool of the conspiracy 
to capture or kill me,” he said, “and to punish or 
condemn her publicly would stir up a dangerous 
revolt, considering the high position of her father. 
Let her be well guarded, but with all respect to her 
sex, and when we return to the camp the matter 
shall have full consideration.” 

Then double watch and vigilance was set, and 
the chief and his soldiers again slumbered. 

It was many days before Aurelius returned to 
the camp, whither Norcea had been conveyed. On 
the morning after his arrival* as he was crossing the 
great space we should call a parade, or rather review 
ground, he saw a party of soldiers headed by a 
centurion at the scourging post, who were about to 
inflict punishment upon a military offender. 

The general rarely interfered with the commands 
of his centurions, but on this occasion he observed 
the criminal was clothed in the long blue garment 
worn by the British women. 

It was the strict order of Aurelius that no woman 
of the subject people should suffer insult and public 
punishment from the Roman soldiers ; and he 
hastened to the group to ascertain why this rule 
was disregarded. To his anger and surprise he 
perceived it was the Archdruid’s daughter who was 
bound to the post. She had been deprived df her 


234 


Sbe Stanbs Bione 


masculine garments, and clothed in the costume of 
her countrywomen. 

Norcea was tied to the post, but not so tightly 
as to prevent her turning her head, and as Aurelius 
approached, she looked at him with an expression 
of such outraged modesty, shame, and humiliated 
pride, as touched his great kind heart He raised 
his sword towards the executioner, who was looking 
to the lash of his scourge, and cried “ Hold ! Who 
dares to touch in public punishment* a barbarian 
woman ? ” 

The centurion came forward with anger in his 
heart at his authority being set aside, yet with great 
outward deference, and explained “ that the prisoner 
had not only been very unruly, but had snatched a 
sword from a soldier of her guard and even wounded 
him, and surely he was within the rights of martial 
law in thus punishing her,” he added. 

A slight smile came upon the face of Aurelius at 
the idea of chastising a worn an for fighting a soldier, 
but he checked it at once, and merely replied, — 

“ The offence in itself deserves a hundred lashes, 
centurion ; but the risk of inflicting it is great. Look 
at the maiden. Is it seemly for a woman, and the 
daughter of the greatest man in this island, to be in 
this situation and in this sorry plight? The policy 
of Rome is not cruelty to the vanquished.” 

The centurion rather sullenly bowed assent. It 
was, indeed, an unseemly sight, as Aurelius said, for 
the rough soldiers had torn down the blue garment of 
Norcea, and laid bare her back almost to her hips, 
and had rudely flung forward her thick long hair, so 
as to leave her shoulders ready for the lash. 

“ Centurion,” appealed Aurelius, “ dost thou not 


IHorcea 


235 

think this Druid’s daughter hath already suffered 
enough as a woman for her fault as a man ? ” 

“ I think, tribune/’ answered the centurion, “ that 
when a woman puts herself in a man’s place she 
should take the penalty with the privilege. Yet I 
see thou art right. This maiden’s rank protects her. 
Her chastisement is not worth the lives of the Romans, 
who might have to pay for it. Soldiers, unbind the 
criminal.” 

It was done. Norcea faced her judges, and then, 
with a gesture half-indignant, half-piteous, she put 
her hands behind her, and endeavoured to draw 
together the garment the soldiers had torn in 
strips. 

Aurelius, with kind compassion, observed this 
action, and knew the humbling position the maiden 
would be in whilst passing amongst the rough men 
and jeering women of the camp. He took off the 
civilian toga worn over his armour, and gave it to 
a soldier. 

" Wrap this with all respect,” he said, “ around the 
Druid’s daughter, and conduct her in safety to the 
bounds of the temple, and see that she receives no 
insult by the way ; ” and he added, raising his voice 
and half smiling as he spoke, “ If she scorns the 
garment of a Roman foe, she can send it back to his 
camp.” 

Norcea heard these words, as he meant she should, 
but she did not send back the toga to its owner. 

After the return of the Druid’s daughter to the 
temple, a great change came over her. She no longer 
dressed as a youth or warrior, nor did she join in 
any public or martial actions. She stole away in 
solitude, spending days in her coracle in the upper 


236 


Sbe Stanbs Hlone 


reaches of the Thames, or wandering in the depths 
of the forests and woods. When among her own 
people she was silent and absent, showing little 
interest in any person or in any thing ; and, with 
the passion of a monomaniac, her whole soul was 
absorbed in one object — the foe of her country, the 
great Roman chief. 

“ I hate him ! I hate him ! ” she would cry, with 
the force of habit, while a secret shame, which her 
instinct told her was a far different feeling from hate, 
held possession of her heart. 

She kept the toga of Aurelius in a secret place, 
cherishing and almost worshipping it, as a devotee 
might adore a sacred picture or image in her oratory ; 
and when at last she could no longer deceive herself 
as to the true state of her feelings, she addressed 
it as a human being, and whispered, as if afraid the 
air might overhear, “ I love thee ! I love thee ! ” 

There were keen eyes and loving penetration 
watching and understanding these tokens of love 
malady in Norcea. Her grandmother suddenly 
challenged her when they were alone together. 
“ Thou lovest, child,” she said, “ and thy love is 
unhappy. Tell me, who hath stolen thy heart?” 

The relief to Norcea’s burdened breast afforded 
by the confession that followed this question, was 
infinitely consoling to her troubled mind. 

“ Great mother,” she answered, “ I love the chief 
Roman captain, and he despises me. I love him, 
and none else.” 

“ What ! ” cried the astonished grandmother. “ The 
man thou soughtest to slay ! He whom thou hast 
hated for thy country’s sake ! How can this be, 
daughter ? ” 


IRorcea 


237 


“ I thought I hated him, O mother, but now I 
know that it was love all the time.” 

“By the holy mistletoe, that was a strange way 
of showing love,” replied the witch grimly. “ Hath 
he spoken love words to thee, my child ? ” 

“ Nay, not one.” 

“It would be a brave alliance, Norcea, for thee. 
He and thou, my child, might in time be king and 
queen of Britain. It must be brought about.” 

“ Oh, great mother, thy words madden me with 
joy. Thou hast wondrous power with the gods of 
the oak and stars. Ask of them to give me this 
great chief, and the kingdom of my people.” 

“ No, daughter, I will not ask, for it would be 
useless breath. What is decreed will be. My power 
extends only to wrest the secrets of the ‘ Will be ’ 
from woods and stars. I will cast my charms this 
night under the holy oak, and learn the future of thee 
and of this Roman, if the gods are but kind.” 

Three days passed, and the witch came back. 

“ Shall I win his love, great mother ? ” inquired the 
trembling Norcea. 

“ Never,” replied the witch solemnly. 

“ Ah me ! then I shall never be his wife.” 

“ Thou shalt become his wife, daughter.” 

“ Then I care for naught else. I will win his 
affection afterwards.” 

“Thou wilt never win it. Yet, again, I say thou 
shalt be his wife, and none other, and naught can 
hinder it. So saith the spirits of the woods and 
stars.” 

“ And the kingdom of Britain, great mother — shall 
we possess it ? ” 

“ The spirits are silent. They refuse to answer 


She Stanos Hione 


238 

this or any other question, save that he shall be thy 
husband and never give thee his love. Ask me 
nothing more at present, or in the future.” 

Then the witch retreated into the most secret 
recesses of the temple. 

A great joy took possession of Norcea. She was 
to be the chief captain's wife. It should go hard but 
that in the end she would gain his heart. As to the 
kingdom, let it go. 

Her exaltation was of short duration. The Roman 
army and colony of the north bank of the Thames 
rang with the following exciting news : a bride of 
his own country was coming over to the great Roman 
tribune. 

The rumour was true. A messenger had arrived 
with a letter to the most noble and excellent Aurelius, 
and these were its contents : — 

“ I am free, and I am thine. — Euphrosyne.” 

And the messenger returned with an answer in two 
words : — 

“ Come. — Aurelius.” 

In her agony Norcea went to her witch grandmother 
for counsel and comfort. 

“ Fear not, daughter,” said the witch. “ I repeat 
to thee that thou shalt be his wife, and none other. 
So hath the spirits decreed.” 


CHAPTER XXII 

THE PIRATES OF THE THAMES 

I MMEDIATELY on Euphrosyne’s receiving the 
return message of Aurelius, she started for the 
journey to Albion, and soon reached that narrow line 
of water, the “ Silver Streak,” which more effectually 
protects the British shores than if every soldier from 
the great barrack-rooms of Europe was hired for its 
defence. 

When she arrived at the opposite port of Gaul it 
was found that only the galley prepared to convey 
the bride was ready in the harbour. Either from 
stress of weather or mischance of orders, the convoy 
ships directed to be its guard of honour and safety 
were not in sight. 

“It will be safer to wait for our consorts, lady,” 
suggested the master of the galley. “ They cannot 
be long in rejoining us.” 

“ Have the barbarians ships which might encounter 
ours ? ” inquired Euphrosyne. 

“ Nay,” interposed the centurion contemptuously. 
“They have only rude boats with a man apiece 
to steer them. It is rather for the honour of the 
escort than from fear of attack we need delay the 
voyage.” 

“ Then let us sail without them,” she said 

339 


240 


5be Stands Hlone 


impatiently ; “ that is, supposing the barbarians are 
in due subjection to the Romans.” 

“ It is proposed that we proceed throughout by 
water, most excellent lady, and the tribune will 
await us at the camp landing upon the great river 
Thames,” replied the centurion. 

“ Then there can be no danger,” she replied. “ Let 
us lose no more time,” turning to the master of the 
ship, who shook his head, being by no means sure 
that there was no danger ; but a sailor’s rivalry 
checked his remonstrance. He did not care to show 
fear when the soldier had none. So he compromised 
matters by proposing a few hours’ rest for the lady 
whilst he got his vessel in readiness ; trusting that 
good fortune would, in the interval, send the little 
fleet to his assistance. 

Euphrosyne, who, in truth, sorely needed rest, 
agreed to this proposal, and retired to enjoy a long 
sleep of many hours. When she awoke her first 
question was, — 

“ Are the guard ships arrived ? ” 

“ Not yet, noble lady,” was the reply. 

She dressed, and went on board. Noting amongst 
the crew, as well as with the master, a certain re- 
luctance to sail, she said, — 

“Three pieces of gold above his hire for every 
sailor, and double the amount of agreement with 
the master, if he consents to sail at once.” 

There was no further hesitation ; the anchor was 
weighed, and the sails set. 

“ The sea is as blue and bright as my own Greek 
sky,” Euphrosyne remarked to the centurion, as the 
barque flew merrily over the smooth, sparkling water. 

It was a bright September afternoon when the 


XTbe pirates of tbe fTbaittes 


241 


galley entered the mouth of the Thames ; the tide 
was flowing in fast, a fresh breeze sprang up in their 
favour, and the barque made swift progress. 

An awning had been spread at the stern for 
Euphrosyne and her attendants, for the sun blazed 
fiercely down, and the wind was high. 

Euphrosyne was more favourably impressed with 
the country than she had expected to be. The sun, 
that great glorifier, creates beauty even where it 
does not exist, and under its radiance the dense 
forests on the Kentish, and the ugly marshes on the 
Essex banks, lost their usual aspect of gloom and 
desolation. 

“The great Julius has maligned Britain,” she 
observed to the centurion, who had just rejoined her 
with a shade of anxiety upon his face. He had been 
in close and grave talk with the master. “It is not 
nearly so savage a country as I anticipated, and as 
to the barbarous natives who gave him such a rough 
reception, where are they hidden, centurion ? ” 

“I trust, noble lady, they will remain hidden for 
thy sake ” — “ and ” under his voice, “ for our own ” — 
was his answer. 

“ Dost thou suspect ambushes or snares ? ” inquired 
Euphrosyne, who caught these last words. 

“ Not exactly,” replied the centurion evasively. 
“ Thou wert speaking of Caesar, lady. He never 
ran down his foes, and did justice to the savage 
courage of the Britons. I will confess, all Roman 
and soldier as I am, I shall thank the gods if we 
meet with none of these barbarians before we land. 
As to the country,” he added, shrugging his shoulders, 
“wait, I pray thee, until the sun retires, and then 
say what thou thinkest of this land of fogs, and 

16 


242 


Sbe Stanbs Bione 


swamps, and damps, and chills. There is the winter 
coming, we must remember.” 

Euphrosyne smiled, but did not answer. What to 
her was fog and cold, damp and chill ? If the sun 
could overcome these ills, could not the sun of her 
love extinguish them ? 

The movement of the galley was delightful as it 
glided over the smoothly flowing river. There were 
musicians on board ; and the sailors, as they eagerly 
pulled at the oars to help their progress — for they 
were all anxious to reach the landing-place with as 
little delay as possible — guided their strokes by the 
rhythm of a low, humming song. The soldiers had 
withdrawn to the bow of the vessel, and were casting 
lots and conversing together in tones lowered by the 
presence of their commander. The Greek attendants 
of the lady whispered gaily together in their beautiful 
language, and Euphrosyne and the centurion spoke 
to one another in the Latin tongue. 

The wind had been gradually dying away. 
Suddenly it stopped altogether, and the sails drooped 
around the masts. There was as sudden an excite- 
ment on board, and the rowers did not appear to 
need the master’s urging to put all their strength 
into their oars. Every eye was turned anxiously 
to the woods on the Kentish side, and Euphrosyne 
interrupted her conversation by the exclamation, — 

“ See, centurion. Look at that curious sight yonder. 
Surely those men near the banks, in the uncouth 
boats, are^the centaurs of the water.” 

As she spoke the commotion amongst the crew 
increased. Fresh hands assisted the rowers, and the 
master repeated his injunctions to make all possible 
speed to reach the landing-place, now not far distant. 


XTbe pirates of tbe Ubarnes 


243 


He beckoned to the centurion, and after a few words 
between them, the soldiers were directed to see to 
their arms and at once to man the bulwarks of 
the ship. 

The sight that attracted Euphrosyne’s notice and 
caused these proceedings was the appearance of 
a great number of boats which the Britons were 
dragging from the woods and pushing into the river. 
These boats, called coracles, were made of skins 
stretched upon laths, and were usually managed and 
balanced by a single occupant, in so dexterous a 
manner that Euphrosyne’s comparison of them to 
water centaurs was a happy one. 

The river was soon swarming with them, and on 
they came by hundreds, it may be said by thousands, 
towards the galley. 

In silence the coracles approached ; not a cry, word, 
or sound was heard, until at a little distance from 
the galley they formed in a close circle around it. 
Then there broke forth a horrible shout, only earthly 
in that it was animal — the howl of the wild dog, the 
laugh of the hyena, the yell of a red Indian, and the 
hoarse cry of an infuriated man — something of all 
these, and something else indescribable mingled with 
it rang through the air, and sent a thrill of actual 
fear through the heart of the bravest man who heard 
it ; albeit these men were Romans, and accustomed 
to savage warfare. 

With a rush the Britons closed up their coracles 
around the ship, which they instantly endeavoured 
to board. The galley was of the largest size, and 
the sailors left the oars and joined the soldiers, 
endeavouring to make the line of defence as unbroken 
as possible. 


244 


5be Stanbs Blone 


At first they succeeded in repulsing the attack, 
throwing the barbarians back with their lances, and 
killing them with their swords and oars as they 
rose to closer quarters. But these reverses were 
but as the first drops of rain in a thunder-storm, 
for in place of one savage who fell back into the 
river or coracle a score at least came on in his 
stead, clinging to any projection on the side of the 
vessel, climbing upon one another’s shoulders, and 
with their knotted, murderous clubs shivering aside 
and breaking the steel weapons of the Romans, as 
though they were glass, and braining the defenders. 
The contest was a hopeless one. Courage and 
discipline were but of temporary avail against the 
might of numbers, impossibility of retreat, and lack 
of reinforcements. Too soon a gap unfilled was 
made in the cordon of defence, and the wild, furious 
Celts leapt through it, like ascending flame or 
rushing water, uttering harsh, guttural cries of rage 
and defiance. Almost more rapidly than can be 
written they filled the galley, and not a mariner 
or a soldier save the centurion — who was everywhere 
at once, performing prodigies of valour, and who 
appeared to bear a charmed life — was left standing 
upon the deck. 

At this crises Norcea, the Druid’s daughter, who 
had followed the onset of her countrymen, and had 
sprung upon the deck, approached the dais upon 
which Euphrosyne stood, endeavouring to calm her 
shrieking women, and calling to the centurion who 
was near, inquired in a harsh guttural of tangled 
consonants, — 

“ Who is this woman, Roman ? ” 

“ A noble lady, the promised wife of the great 


TOe pirates ot tbe Zlbames 


245 


chief Aurelius, maiden,” replied the centurion in her 
own language ; “ and any insult or injury offered to 
her will meet with deadly reprisals from him.” 

u Thou liest, Roman,” cried Norcea fiercely. “ I 
am the promised wife of this great Roman captain. 
Tell her, the Roman woman this, and bid her turn 
her big coracle back to her own country, if she 
would save her life and thine.” 

The centurion did not answer. 

“ She does not understand me, Roman,” said Norcea 
impatiently. “Tell her, 1 repeat, to return from 
whence she came, because it is I, and no other, who 
has a wife’s right to the Roman warrior.” 

Thus urged, the centurion interpreted the speech 
of Norcea, and added, “ This maiden must doubtless 
be mad to make such outrageous assertions ; yet we 
have no choice but to accept her proposal of escape.” 

“ Assuredly we have no other choice,” assented 
Euphrosyne. “ We must bend before the storm ; it 
is folly to resist. Tell the barbarian woman I agree 
to return.” 

These words were translated by the centurion to 
Norcea. 

“ That is not enough, Roman,” rejoined the latter. 
“ She must swear by her image gods that she will 
never return to this land, never see the Roman 
captain again, never consent to be his wife.” 

When these words were repeated to Euphrosyne 
she rose from the seat she had resumed on Norcea’s 
appearance, and regarded the young Amazon with 
a look that for the moment quelled her, as man’s 
eye is said to subjugate the savage animals ; for she 
fell back involuntarily a step or two. 

“ Tell her,” said Euphrosyne, turning to the 


246 


5be Stanbs Hlone 


centurion, “ that I will never swear by a god, a 
man, or by myself to relinquish my claim to be the 
wife of the Roman chief Aurelius.” 

“Doth she mean this?” inquired Norcea incredu- 
lously. “ Is she in earnest ? ” 

“ The noble lady does mean it, she is in earnest,” 
replied the centurion, after a few words with 
Euphrosyne. 

“ Then tell her to make her marriage-bed down 
there!” cried Norcea, pointing to the water, “and 
let the river-weeds be her wedding raiment, and 
wait — wait — wait ” — repeating each word with bitter 
gall — “ for the bridegroom who will never join her.” 
Then going to the side of the ship she uttered a 
loud word of command, and sprang over the vessel 
into one of the empty coracles, as an otter might 
take to the water. 

Scarcely had she spoken and leapt, than a sharp 
hatchet-blow was struck against the galley just below 
the wind and water mark ; and this was repeated 
until a great chasm was opened, so that the flood 
poured in and the ship began to sink — not with the 
bold, despairing plunge of the sea-wrecked vessel, 
bow foremost to destruction, but with the straight, 
even, suicidal settling to its doom of the river barque. 
A wild shriek of women, a roused groan of the sur- 
viving wounded men, a huge black whirlpool, a 
gurgling suction of bubbling water, circling in widen- 
ing and disappearing ripples, and then the disturbed 
tide closed over all, and laughed smoothly back at 
the sunshine. 

As the galley went down, the Roman centurion 
and the Greek lady might have been seen standing 
calmly side by side upon the sinking deck. 


XLbc ©(rates of tbe XTbames 


247 


Like a flight of sea birds, the Britons and their 
coracles flew from the dangerous eddies of the 
vortex ; and soon, not a vestige of men or boats 
remained upon the river. All had vanished into the 
woods. 

The moment that his bride’s galley had entered the 
mouth of the Thames, the military telegraphs com- 
municated the tidings to Aurelius. Messengers in 
close relays along the northern bank reported its 
progress to the general, who, with his own band, 
servants and friends, awaited in his chariot the arrival 
of his affianced wife. The vessel was reported in 
sight, and the chief whispered to Marcus, the freed- 
man “ who was dear to him,” — 

“ At last my Lord hath granted me the desire of 
mine eyes.” 

“ May His blessing ever rest upon thee and her, 
master beloved,” replied Marcus. 

Almost as they spake the news was flying along 
the posted messengers that the barbarians were 
attacking the bridal ship, and the nearest watchman 
rushed to the landing-stage with the terrible tidings. 

Aurelius drove his chariot in hot haste by the 
military road carried along the river-side, and arrived 
opposite the galley just too late to see the “ desire of 
his eyes ” sink beneath the waters. 

No word, sob, or groan, uttered or suppressed, 
escaped the wounded breast of the heart-broken man. 
He raised his right hand and covered his eyes for a 
moment or two ; that was all, save that from beneath 
that hand-shade two big drops of water plashed upon 
the dust at his feet. 

Every one of his train had fleetly followed him, 
and all covered their faces and bent their heads 


248 


Sbe Stanbs Hlone 


before the sorrow which had befallen one who was 
rather the god of their idolatry than a mere master 
and leader of battle ; and it was said that Aurelius 
was not the only soldier who shed tears that day. 

In silence and speed all returned to the camp. 
Rescue had been impossible ; the calamity had 
been too sudden and complete for aid. All was 
consternation and confusion in the Roman colony, 
who yet hardly realised the consequences of the 
disaster. Aurelius remained alone with his sorrow 
and his God 


CHAPTER XXIII 


UNDER THE HARVEST MOON 
HE sheeted light of a full moon fell balefully 



X upon forest and marsh, and brought out in 
sharp relief the only living thing upon the river. 
This was a woman in a coracle, who was hovering 
over the spot where the Roman galley had sunk 
some hours before. 

It was the Druid’s daughter, who all at once 
broke forth into a Celtic war-song of triumph ; and 
stopping as suddenly in the midst of a chorus, she 
bent over the frail side of the boat and peered 
intently into the water. 

“ Ha, fair bride ! ” she cried tauntingly. “ How 
likest thou thy cold bridal bed ? Is thy bridegroom 
already come, or is the water-flow thy only love-note ? 
Knowest thou that another will soon take thy place, 
and bring him the kingdom of this country for her 
dower ? ” 

The falling tide was sullenly flowing out, and 
carried Norcea’s coracle with it. Perceiving this, 
she angrily turned her boat, and came again, as she 
judged, over the watery grave of her rival. 

“ Why was she so fair, so wondrous fair ? ” she 


250 


Sbe Stanbs Hlone 


muttered. “ Why did she look, sit, stand, and speak, 
so differently from myself? Why did the king of the 
stars send her eyes more beautiful than theirs, with 
a face, a skin, limbs, and movements like hers ? 
Why? 

“ I marvel not that the Roman warrior never looked 
upon the women of our people,” she continued, “ never 
seemed to see me, as I passed and saluted him, whilst 
this witch lived in his heart. Why ” — contemplating 
her large brown hands and feet and masculine pro- 
portions with angry tears in her eyes — “ Why am I 
not like her? 

“ But,” she added, rallying her spirits, “ it is all 
over now. What value hath a dead woman for a 
living man? Men are changeable as the skies and 
winds. Our young men woo me y and swear by the 
sacred mistletoe they never loved before and will 
never love after me ; and when I will none of them, 
they meet another maiden, and she does just as well, 
and they swear the same oaths over again to her, and 
after her again to others. 

“ Ay,” she went on after a pause, “ but their love 
is the same Nature sends to bears and wolves, and 
this man’s is not like theirs ; and this woman — may 
the gods of the oaks curse her ! — was not like myself. 
Well, what matters it? She is lying drowned, stark 
and swollen down below. She shall never rest upon 
his heart, and never shall his warrior sons call her 
mother 

“ Hist ! what is that ? ” 

On the Essex bank of the river, amidst, or 
rather upon a thick bed of osiers, the moon rays ap- 
peared concentrated upon an object that returned 
as well as reflected them. Norcea had again drifted 


Xflitber tbe ibacvest flboon 251 

down stream, preoccupied with her jealous medita- 
tions. 

Without, in truth against, her will, prompted partly 
by curiosity, still more by a presentiment of evil, 
she guided her boat towards the object, and perceived 
it was a woman’s form clothed in white, the head and 
shoulders lying on the bank, one arm thrown upon 
it, the other and lower limbs among the osiers ; the 
tide sluggishly moving them to and fro, and the 
water-weeds swathing and curling around them like 
living things. 

Norcea fastened her coracle to a post close by, 
leapt upon land, and bent over the senseless form. 
With angry alarm she recognised her rival, the foreign 
bride of the Roman chief. 

She gazed upon — as she judged it to be — the 
senseless corpse, with an envy and malice such as 
the malignant moon regarded the earth — the earth 
from which, as the Archdruid had said uncounted 
ages before, she had been violently torn, and con- 
demned to remain alone, continually contemplating 
the fertility and beauty of her renewed and larger 
earthly part. 

For some minutes Norcea stood in this mood of 
speechless rage ; then a rush of blood passed over and 
left her relieved brain, and she began furiously ad- 
dressing the drowned woman. 

“ The river grave is tired of thee,” she cried, “ and 
spurns back its prey, it seems ; but I will make sure 
this time it does not again cheat me.” 

Norcea drew the senseless figure of Euphrosyne 
farther up the bank, picked up two heavy stones, 
fastened these to her feet, and taking her up in her 
arms with the strength and ease of a man, held her 


252 


Sbe Stanbs Hlone 


swaying for some moments, ready to fling her burden 
far off into the river. 

“ Down ! down ! down ! thou witch of beauty,” 
she cried. “ Down ! where no bridegroom shall find 
thee a second time.” 

Had not her blind fury blinded her quick sight 
and wild Indian habits of observation, she would 
have known that the form she held in her arms was 
not dead. There was neither chill nor stiffness in 
the yielding supple limbs, or rigidity in the gently 
closed eyelids and slightly parted lips. Sleep, un- 
consciousness, trance — whatever it might be, it was 
not death. 

Suddenly the young savage appeared to change 
her mind, just as she was poising the form she held 
to cast it far from her into the water. An idea had 
struck her, and she gave utterance to it aloud. “ Nay, 
nay. Better he should see this drowned one, and 
bury her, and know for sure that she is gone and 
lost to him for ever, than that he should dream and 
hope she might come back to him.” 

She laid Euphrosyne on the ground again, mutter- 
ing to herself as she did so, “ If I take her to 
the chief he will know that his bride is surely 
dead.” 

Norcea now loosened her coracle, and drew it on 
the bank. She unfastened the skins of which it was 
composed, and which had been folded round it to 
suit one occupant, stretched these on laths laid 
ready for this use at the bottom of the craft, and, 
when the length was thus doubled, lifted Euphrosyne 
into it. She then fastened a stout rope to one end, 
and dragged it, as was British custom, overland 
through morass and wood pathways, until she 


Xllnber tbe 1barv>est /[boon 


253 


reached the outskirts of the camp where the sentinel 
challenged her. 

“ I am Norcea, the Druid’s daughter,” she answered. 
“ I have brought a drowned woman whom I found 
on the river-bank. Take her, soldier, and see if 
she is, as I judge, of thy country.” 

The watch looked into the coracle, and saw at 
once it contained a Roman lady, who doubtless had 
been drowned in the barque of the bride. He at 
once sent for assistance, and Euphrosyne was taken 
to the villa of the first centurion, and tenderly re- 
ceived and tended by that officer’s wife, the lady 
Marcella. 

Euphrosyne had fallen into the vortex of the 
sinking ship, but rose at some distance beyond it. 
Stunned and almost senseless, but with just enough 
strength and instinct left to swim, she reached the 
nearest bank, upon which, exhausted and senseless, she 
sank upon the spot where Norcea had found her. 
The lady Marcella and her attendants (women were 
physicians and surgeons as well as nurses in those 
days) at once perceived that life was not extinct, 
and the means used soon restored the inanimate 
Euphrosyne to life and consciousness. 

Norcea was about to quit the camp for her temple 
home, when the thought struck her to see the end 
of the adventure. “ The hour is late,” she said to 
the sentinels. “ Can I leave my coracle here, and 
find lodgment for the night ? ” 

“Certainly, daughter of the Druid,” returned the 
watch respectfully. “Your boat shall be cared for, 
and the women of the chief centurion’s lady will 
no doubt shelter yourself ; for be sure my lord the 
general will gladly thank you for this lady’s rescue.” 


254 


Sbe Stanbs Blone 


In the confusion and excitement of this event 
Norcea, unobserved by any one, contrived to conceal 
herself in a court closely adjoining the villa of the 
tribune, crouching and lying in wait like a wild 
animal of prey as she made her way to it. 


CHAPTER XXIV 
EUPHROSYNE OR JESUSt 


“A URELIUS ! ” 

l\ Softly as the movement of an angel’s wing did 
this whisper of his name come to the Roman general. 
In prayer, fasting, an,d vigil he had passed that night 
of sore affliction. Was this an answer sent him ? 
What meant it? Whose was that beloved, that 
familiar voice? 

He looked up. Had his Lord vouchsafed the 
spirit of his beloved to comfort him ? In those days 
men did not deem the belief in spiritual messengers 
superstition. They knew such to be reality. Yes, 
he truly beheld the gracious presence of his longed- 
for bride, but with a something glorified added to 
her earthly beauty, as was, Aurelius thought, but 
inevitable to her heavenly perfection. He neither 
moved nor spoke, but continued to regard with rapt 
adoration his unexpected visitant. 

“ Aurelius,” repeated Euphrosyne in the same 
soft sweet voice, albeit quivering with the emotion 
stirring within her. “ My rightful husband ! My 
only beloved ! At last I am come to thee. At 
last ! ” 

She came forward with outstretched arms. A 
great fear fell upon Aurelius, causing him to step 


256 


5be Stanbs HI one 


back with a shrinking hesitation he could not 
control. Had not she been seen to sink beneath 
the heavy waters of the barbarians’ river ? Then 
who was this? For he began to suspect it was 
no spirit standing before him in all this appareat 
warmth of life, and speaking in words and display- 
ing in action the passionate affection of a loving 
woman. 

She saw, as she thought, his indifference, and it cut 
her to the quick. “ Am I so changed, O friend,” she 
said, “ that thy love is already flown ? Tell me quickly 
if it is thus with thee, and I will go away with my 
broken heart.” 

Aurelius now recovered speech and self-control. 
“ Euphrosyne,” he cried, “ tell me on thy side if it 
be truly thyself in flesh and blood, for surely thou 
wast engulfed in the waters of the river. How 

earnest thou back ? if indeed it is thyself before 

>> 

me. 

“ I see,” she replied smilingly. <f Thou judgest me 
to be a shade from Hades. Touch me, Aurelius. 
Convince thyself by an embrace fitting for thy 
promised wife that I am a living loving woman, and 
not a cold shadowy phantom.” 

Aurelius needed no second invitation. He opened 
his arms, and folded Euphrosyne within them in 
unspeakable rapture. They sat down side by side, 
hand in hand, and for awhile their joy at being to- 
gether and alone was too great for speech. 

They were not alone. Norcea was concealed 
behind the curtain, which shut off a small bed- 
chamber from the room in which the lovers had 
met. She had lingered, listened, and questioned, 
until, to her dismay, she gathered that the rescued 


“Enpbrossne or Jesus ?” 


257 


lady not only lived, but was likely to recover ; 
and when Euphrosyne — having explained to the 
centurion’s wife who she was, and expressed the 
wish to surprise and see the general alone — was 
conducted to the door of his apartment, Norcea 
contrived to follow unnoticed. She slipped in after 
them and reached, behind the arras, which lined the 
walls for warmth, this little chamber, where she hid 
herself securely, and could hear and see through the 
opening of the curtain all that passed in the outer 
room. 

At length Aurelius spoke. 

“Tell me how thou wert saved, beloved.” 

“ I cannot tell thee,” she replied. “It is all a 
blank. I only remember now the shock, and the 
falling at the last, and a confusion as of rising to 
the surface and swimming ; and then I opened my 
eyes, and found myself surrounded by kindly women, 
and learnt that I was almost the same as in the 
house of my future husband. I rested a little, and 
— am come to thee.” 

“ My God has sent His angel, and wrought a 
miracle on thy behalf, thou loved one of my 
soul ! ” he cried, bending his head devoutly in silent 
thankfulness. 

Euphrosyne scarcely heard, and heeded not the 
words and action. 

He embraced and kissed her on brow, cheek, and 
lips. 

“ My bride and wife ! This very day,” he cried, 
“ all was prepared for our marriage upon this very 
eve. Thou hast come in time for the wedding feast, 
fair bride.” 

There was no more time for joy or caresses. 

17 


258 


Sbe Stanbs HI one 


Aurelius called his freedman Marcus, gave some 
general directions, and then ordered a breakfast for 
himself and the lady Euphrosyne, which was soon 
laid upon a table, near a hearth heaped with 
blazing logs. 

“ This is Arcadia back again,” said Euphrosyne. 
“ We have much to tell each other of all that has 
passed since then, my friend.” 

“ Let the past be buried in the present,” replied 
Aurelius. “ I feel as though I could not bear pain 
at this moment.” 

He stood up, clasped his hands, and blessed the 
food in the name of the Father, and of the Son, 
and of the Holy Ghost, and Euphrosyne wondered 
who these new gods and what this new worship 
could be ; but something, she knew not what, with- 
held her from asking its meaning. 

When the meal was finished, they sat down by 
the warm fireside, and after some loving converse 
Euphrosyne said, — 

“ Thou oughtest to know, Aurelius, that a strange 
thing happened during our attack by the barbarians. 
A woman, or rather a maiden, for although stalwart 
almost to manliness she was by no means uncomely, 
sprang upon the deck, and addressed me personally 
through an interpreter, commanding me in somewhat 
insolent terms to return to Gaul.” 

“The barbarian women of Britain are allowed to 
take part in war and government,” replied Aurelius ; 
“but I cannot give you any information as to who 
this Amazon could be.” 

“But there is more behind, dear friend. When, 
seeing the impossibility of refusing, I agreed to turn 
back, she added that I should not only return, but 


44 Bupbrossne or Jesus?” 259 

swear by my gods that I would give up all right to 
be thy wife, as she alone had the claim to be so.” 

Aurelius was too utterly bewildered by this as- 
tonishing announcement to speak. He thought for 
the moment that Euphrosyne must have left her 
senses in the great river where she so nearly lost 
her life. He had never, as far as he could remember, 
looked with interest upon, far less conversed with, 
them ; indeed, he regarded all barbarous womanhood 
with slight distaste, and to hear that he was claimed 
by one of them as a husband, would have roused 
his anger, had it not excited his contempt. 

“ Do not think, my beloved Aurelius,” continued 
Euphrosyne in a voice of mingled sweetness and 
dignity, “ that I am going to disturb the early hours 
of our reunion by senseless jealousy. I trust in thy 
love as fully as I believe in my own, but I mention 
this occurrence for thy sake, as well as for my own. 
It is better this unpleasant matter should be investi- 
gated and explained.” 

“ I cannot explain it, my Euphrosyne. I am as 
much in the dark as thou art. Thine image has 
been so completely the only one of my being, that 
all other women have been to me as though they 
existed not. As to a barbarous British maiden, how 
couldst thou have thought such a thing possible ! ” 

“ I did not think it,” she answered. “ I am only 
speaking of a fact which concerned my life ; but, 
beloved, do not misapprehend me. It is more from 
suspicion of danger than from unworthy doubt I bid 
thee fathom it.” 

Aurelius thought for a minute or two, and then 
like a flash the recollection of Norcea came to him. 
He recalled what he had not noted at the time, how 


26 o 


Sbe Stanbs Hlone 


she had thrown herself in his way and had tried to 
attract his notice, and many other trifles let in the 
light as he reflected. 

“ There is ” he spoke at last, and then hesitated. 

“ There is ? ” Euphrosyne repeated. 

“ A maiden, the chief Druid’s daughter, who ” 

he paused again. 

“Yes?” said Euphrosyne. But the general did 
not answer. 

“ Go on, Aurelius,” she said gently. “ Do not fear 
to speak plainly. I trust to your truth as well as 
in thy love. Conceal nothing, say all that is in thy 
heart.” 

“ I have nothing in truth or heart to conceal,” he 
answered, looking into her eyes with a true and 
fearless confidence. “ This young maiden once 
attempted to betray me into the hands of her country- 
men. I pardoned and let her go, and have never 
spoken to her since ; and yet I now remember she 
has often and designedly crossed my way. Possibly 
her people may be laying a snare for me through her. 
it is also possible she may be ambitious to rank as 
the wife of one of her conquerors. I can tell you 
nothing more. She is not, she has not been, she 
never can be aught to myself ; yet none but she could 
have exercised the authority thou hast described.” 

“ It is enough, my husband,” said Euphrosyne, 
taking his hand fondly in her own. “ I am answered, 
and I am satisfied. Many men have desired me for 
whom I cared not. Why should not many women 
love thee towards whom thou art indifferent? If this 
maiden loves thee, I should be the last to blame her. 
Nay, I pity and would befriend her. The subject is 
at an end. Let it pass.” 


“ JEupfocosgne or 3esus? 


261 


Now by the subtle instinct by which an animal 
divines if it is spoken of, Norcea knew these two were 
talking of herself, although she did not understand 
one word of the Latin tongue they used. She had 
been maddened at the caresses, looks, and soft tones 
of the lovers, and gladly would have sprung forward 
and slain Euphrosyne, had she been alone ; and now 
her curiosity to know what they said of her became 
positive pain. 

The tribune was at this moment called away, and 
the lady retired to the home of the centurion’s wife, 
to rest once more, in preparation for the coming 
ceremony and feasting. The day was still young, 
and the Roman contract of marriage and supper was 
to take place in the evening. 

All was quiet now in the room these two had 
quitted, and Norcea stole cautiously from her hiding- 
place into the larger apartment. Bread, wine, meat, 
and fruit still remained upon the table, and she, 
having fasted many hours, fell eagerly upon the food, 
and then looked about for water ; but the jar had 
been emptied, so she poured from a flagon of wine, 
and drained the cup dry. 

It was a light Italian liquor of little strength, 
but the draught at once went to Norcea’s head, 
who had never tasted alcohol in her life. She was 
frightened at the effects, but had just sense enough 
left to stagger back into the little chamber, where 
she fell upon the floor, and almost immediately after 
into a deep sleep. 

No one disturbed her, and she slept on until the 
bustle of the slaves, who were preparing a noontide 
meal for the general in the outer room, awoke her. 
She felt ill and distracted, but soon rallied nerve and 


262 


5be Stanbs Hlone 


recollection, and concealed herself once more to wait 
and watch and rage and hate. 

Euphrosyne again joined her betrothed husband at 
this repast, and Norcea still played the spy. When 
it was finished, these two habitants of the South and 
East stood before the fire, enjoying the heat and 
making the most of the short time allowed them 
before the formalities of the wedding commenced. 
His arm was around her, her head was resting on 
his shoulder, and their eyes met in language it did 
not need the tongue to interpret. 

This happy silence was broken by Euphrosyne. 
“ Aurelius,” she remarked, “ why didst thou not pour 
libation at our table, and who were the strange 
gods thou invoked before eating ? How is it there 
are no Penates around thy hearth, no images of the 
gods in thy peristyle, not even,” she added playfully, 
“ one of thy favourite Diana, of whom I was wont to 
be jealous ; for thou, my soldier hero, wert ever 
ready to be foremost in thy reverence of the gods.” 

" I have ceased to believe in the gods I once 
worshipped, beloved,” replied Aurelius gravely. 

“ Ay, there we are at one, my husband. If thou 
didst not know thou must have suspected that I too 
have lost all faith in the gods of my country and of 
thine.” 

“ I have found the one true God, beloved Euphro- 
syne,” he said, taking and holding her hand solemnly 
in his own, as if about to make a declaration of belief. 

“ That is indeed good tidings,” she answered, plac- 
ing her other hand in his in the same manner. “ Thy 
God then shall be my God ; for oh, Aurelius, thou 
little knowest how I have longed to find the truth, 
and to believe in it.” 


“EupbrosEtte or Jesus?” 


263 


Hanging on the wall beside them was a cross, 
not of enamelled gold and gems, not a crucifix of 
cunningly carved ebony or ivory, but merely of 
two crossed pieces of common wood tied together 
in the centre, the same that lay upon the chief 
captain’s breast when Norcea sought to betray him. 
Aurelius took this down, and, laying it upon a table 
close by, he placed his hand upon it and said 
solemnly, — 

“ Euphrosyne, I am a disciple of the Crucified ! 
If thou also wilt believe in Him, lay thine hand 
upon this sign, and acknowledge Him for thy Lord 
and thy God.” 

But for answer she wrung her hands, and stepped 
back aghast and astonished. No corpse ready for 
burial could look more livid than she who heard 
those words, that spoke her earthly doom of wrecked 
happiness — those fatal words pronounced by the lips 
of her affianced husband. 

Since she had re-entered the world she had, even 
in Gaul, heard something of the discipleship of Jesus, 
and the faith destined to overturn and shake the 
world. She neither received nor believed the story 
of the Gospel, for the death of Jesus had killed her 
hopes ; but she knew His followers held in deepest 
abhorrence the unjust judge who had delivered Him 
to death — an abhorrence only second to that which 
they entertained for Judas Iscariot; and she felt 
with true instinct that it would be impossible for a 
disciple of Jesus of Nazareth to cast upon his Lord 
the insult of taking her who was once the wife of the 
infamous Pilate to be his own. 

To the weak Christianity and water of our own 
day this view of the situation would, in the feeble 


264 


Sbe Stanbs HI one 


phrases of its lukewarm adherence, be called illiberal, 
narrow, and uncharitable. The burning love and 
glowing zeal of the early Church judged differently. 

Euphrosyne might have kept her secret until her 
marriage rendered it innocent of injury to herself ; 
but her noble spirit scorned even the tacit falsehood 
of silence. She would neither win nor keep Aurelius 
by deceit 

She unclasped the sacred girdle of the Accusation 
from her waist, and laid it on the pedestal by the cross. 

“ Aurelius,” she said, with steady eye and voice, 
“ read those words, and know that he who wrote 
them was my husband ” 

Euphrosyne was wearing a scarf folded around 
her shoulders and knotted at the waist, to preserve 
her from cold, and this had concealed the girdle 
from the notice of Aurelius. 

He took it up and read the superscription, and 
then staggered back as if he had been struck. His 
face was even sadder to look upon than Euphrosyne’s, 
and in the hopeless agony of his eyes she read her 
irrevocable sentence of separation. She saw he 
would never take to himself her who had been the 
wife of him who had condemned his Lord. 

She addressed him in trembling beseeching accents. 
“ Aurelius, must we part ? ” 

He was dumb. For the third time the happiness 
of his life, his deep, pure love, had been snatched 
away at the moment of its fruition. Stunned and 
speechless, he answered her not. 

" Is the gulf between us impossible to bridge, 
O best beloved of my soul ? ” cried Euphrosyne in a 
voice of unutterably tender appeal. “ Can it never be 
crossed, Aurelius ? In pity, in mercy bid me hope.” 


“£upbrospne or Jesus ?” 


265 


She saw without his speaking that there was none. 

Now let us pause and consider here how great 
the trial of this man was. Remember he was not 
as other men — of many loves and many lives. He 
was strong in passion and in heart ; and his soul 
was set with all its force upon this woman now 
restored to him, for whom (believe it or not as 
you will) he had devoted the fidelity of his whole 
nature. And now the terrible choice is laid upon 
him to break her heart and his own, or to bring 
disgrace upon the Church of Christ and dishonour 
upon the Lord who had bought him. 

He dared not look towards her, he dared not 
speak to her, and in this moment of sore conflict 
the tempter came. 

Not one of the inferior myrmidons, who would 
suffice for the fall of you or me ; but the great 
prince of the power of the air himself, who dared not 
delegate the task of corrupting this man of mighty 
faith to a lower intelligence than his own. 

Quicker than the lightning’s flash the suggestions 
came. 

“ Behold this woman ! There is none like her 
upon earth. She is the gift of God sent thee by 
miracle. She loves thee, and thou lovest her ; and 
it is sin to put her away. As thy wife she will be on 
the Lord’s side, with her beauty, intellect, and wealth. 
Forget not that she spoke for Jesus of Nazareth when 
all else fled and forsook Him. Will not that cancel 
her forced misfortune as Pilate’s former wife ? Thou 
art pledged tt> her, and he who lies sins. Spurn not 
the gift of thy God, from a narrow, mistaken sense 
of sacrifice and duty.” 

These sophistries spoke to a traitor in Aurelius’ 


266 


Sbe Stands Hlone 


own breast, who, like Christian in the first of un- 
inspired books — if it were uninspired — was figuratively 
beaten to his knees by this Apollyon of darkness. 
His shield was stricken from him and his breast- 
plate unhasped ; yet, nevertheless, in desperate strait 
he still held the sword of the Spirit in his hand, and 
spiritually struggling to his feet he drew it against 
the enemy with the words, “ He who loveth father or 
mother more than Me, is not worthy of Me.” At 
this thrust the fiend fled, leaving his curse behind. 

“ Yes,” cried a voice within him, “better cast out 
the right eye and cut off the right foot, and enter 
life, than bring shame upon my Lord in the sight 
of His disciples by taking the late wife of His unjust 
judge to be thy wife.” 

All this, long to write and read, passed with the 
rapidity of thought, and Aurelius was roused from 
the struggle by the voice of Euphrosyne. 

“ Canst thou not hold us both, O my friend ? ” 

“ It cannot be,” he answered in a low but firm tone. 

“Then choose, and quickly, between us, Roman. 
Euphrosyne or Jesus ? ” 

For an instant or two the dry lips and tongue of 
Aurelius refused to move ; then he lifted his stately 
form, upturned his face, which shone as with reflected 
glory, and raising his right arm above his head, with 
the forefinger pointing upwards, he said in a clear, 
loud voice, — 

“ I choose Jesus ! my Lord and my God ! ” 

A strange hush followed this declaration, and the 
two standing figures of this man and woman were 
motionless, as if turned into stone. The silence 
was broken by Euphrosyne, who, yielding to an 
overwhelming impulse that suddenly possessed her, 


14 Bupbrossne or 3esus?” 267 

spoke as if without power or volition of her own 
these words, — 

“ And thou hast chosen well.” 

She turned and left the apartment with un- 
hastened step and tearless eyes. Crossing the space 
in front of the general’s villa, she entered the house 
of the centurion’s wife who had given her shelter, 
and went to her own chamber, where she was found 
soon afterwards lying senseless on the floor. 

Aurelius also left the room ; and then Norcea 
stealthily crept up to the table where the cross and 
girdle still lay, and bore away the latter, divining it 
to have been the cause of the evident breach between 
these two lives. 


CHAPTER XXV 
“ CHRIST IS RISEN" 

EARLY six months had gone by since the 



1 >1 parting of Aurelius and Euphrosyne, and 
during that interval the latter had struggled through 
a fever which nearly cost her life, followed by a slow 
convalescence, from which she made no effort to rally. 

There was no lack of loving care and attention. 
The lady Marcella, wife of the centurion, at whose 
house she had been received when rescued from the 
river, was a Roman woman of good birth and culture, 
and a friendship rooted in sympathy and similarity 
grew between the two ; whilst the well-trained and 
devoted slaves and attendants who nursed and 
waited upon Euphrosyne left no chance of life or 
requirement of comfort neglected. But although 
appreciating at its full value all this love and service, 
Euphrosyne, by day and by night, secretly pined 
and fretted for the faithful friend, foster-mother and 
freedwoman, who had shared from the beginning the 
strange and stormy career of her life, and who had 
perished beneath the cold deep waters of the 
barbarians’ river. 

It was in the earliest dawn of an exceptionally 
bright day in April that the rays of sunshine falling 
upon her bed from the half-shut casement awoke 
Euphrosyne. She had slept well, and a sense of 


“ (Ibrist is TRisen 


269 


renewed strength and vitality, to which she had long 
been a stranger, brought with it a feeling of glad 
pleasure ; for whatever heavy affliction may be laid 
upon us, the first sensation of returning health must 
ever be one of happiness. 

She rang a handbell, and her personal freedwoman 
appeared. “I would rest by the open casement,” 
said her mistress. “ Wrap me in some warm raiment, 
and let the couch be wheeled to it.” This was done, 
and Euphrosyne looked out into the glad spring 
sunlight. 

A soft warm shower was falling, sparkling the 
waters of the hurrying river, and leaving crystal dew- 
drops upon the budding leaves. 

It seemed to Euphrosyne that the air was full of 
the throb and thrill of growth, and the rising sap 
of nature’s gay annual resurrection ; and surely she 
was sharing in this returning life. For what was it? 
a presentiment, a hope, almost a joy, was filling her 
whole being, for which she could give no reason. 
Yet the next moment she sighed, and envied a lark 
that was soaring high in the sky, singing joyously as 
it rose among the fleecy clouds which were scattering 
hither and thither, after being lightened of their 
watery weight, and travelling onwards beneath a sky 
as blue as that of her native Greece. 

Two slaves entered the room, one with a tray 
of refreshment, the other carrying a cross of wood, 
in the centre of which was a heap of white lilies, 
to which a slip of parchment was attached bearing 
the words “ Christ is Risen.” For this was the 
great day of the new-born Church of Christ, the 
anniversary of the glorious resurrection, the Easter 
Day of Christianity. 


270 


Sbe Stanb5 Hlone 


The lady Marcella — who was a disciple, but secretly, 
for fear of her husband, who was Pagan — had sent 
this sign and greeting to her beloved friend ; to 
whom she had often endeavoured to introduce the 
name and faith of Jesus, but who had always coldly 
turned the conversation. 

Euphrosyne shuddered. She recognised under the 
fragrant burden the rude form of the symbol upon 
which Aurelius had pronounced their separation, and 
she was about to wave it away with her hand, when 
the woman said respectfully, “ The lady Marcella 
sends this offering with her greeting, noble lady,” and 
Euphrosyne answered without looking at the gift, 
“Give the lady Marcella my greetings and my 
thanks,” and turned away. 

Just as she finished the repast brought her, the 
blast of trumpets and other military music sounded 
in the soft spring air. 

“ What means this ? ” asked Euphrosyne of the 
chief freedwoman. 

“ The great tribune meets the legion of the province 
this morning, noble lady. It is the great day of the 
God.” 

A trembling came over Euphrosyne’s frame, a 
sinking at her heart, and yet a yearning once more 
to behold the face of her beloved Aurelius. There 
was another casement in her chamber, opposite the 
one before which her couch had been brought, and 
as this other looked over the great parade or review- 
ground on which the bands of the legion assembled, 
she signed rather than spoke the order to wheel 
her there. 

Heavy curtains protected this eastern casement. 
The couch was set close to it, and, drawing the 



AURELIUS 




































. 






























■ 




































































































































“Cbrist is IRlsen 


271 


drapery so as to enable her to see, and yet not 
herself to be observed, she rested her arms upon 
the sill, and looked with excited interest upon the 
scene below. 

It was a great gathering of the Roman army. 
From each province they arrived. The forces of 
Aurelius, the bands from the seat of government, 
all available strength, were assembled. In the proud 
bravery of war accoutrement, in the strength of 
its superb discipline, this section of the conquering 
army of the world entered the ground. Every 
soldier took his appointed place, and each band, 
with its centurion at the head, awaited the appearance 
of the governing tribune. 

Every man carried a wine-cup in his hand, and, busy 
among the ranks, slaves filled these from flagons until 
all were served ; but not one raised it to his lips. 

Louder and louder came the blast of trumpets, 
until at length the great gates that guarded the 
privacy of the general’s villa were thrown open, and 
Aurelius in his chariot, with what we should call his 
staff surrounding him, came upon the scene ; and 
he and they also bore wine-cups in their hands. 

At the sight of her lost love all strength left 
Euphrosyne, and she sank back upon the couch 
as if senseless. “ A cordial for the noble lady,” 
whispered the freedwoman ; and thus revived, she 
returned to the casement, and looked down once more 
with a beating heart upon her loved and lost hero. 

He was indeed changed. His hair was white as 
that of a man twice his years ; his tall, grand 
frame, although still keeping its martial air and 
stateliness, was slightly bent, and told of long vigils 
and fast ; sorrow had ploughed deep lines on his 


272 


Sbe Startbs Hlone 


face ; and yet, to Euphrosyne’s astonishment, nay, it 
must be added, to her displeasure also, there was upon 
his countenance a joy, a triumph, nay, a contentment 
so perfect, it cut her to the heart as with a knife. 

It was hard to say whether of this twain, the 
man or the woman, had suffered most. In some 
sense the man, because the stronger nature may 
possess stronger capabilities of suffering. On the 
other hand, this very strength enables him to bear 
it better, or, if he wills it, to cast off the burden 
more completely ; and in this instance also the man 
had a faith, hope, and love of which the woman 
knew nothing. He believed it was but for a little 
while, and his bitter trial would be swallowed up 
in a glorious victory He looked forward to the 
exceeding great reward that should succeed his 
sacrifice ; while she only endured in the sullen 
acquiescence of despair. 

As Aurelius appeared the army saluted him, and 
standing up in his chariot he thus addressed them, — 

“ Soldiers, this is the great day of your general’s 
God. All among you who love me hold your wine- 
cup aloft, and, ere you drink, shout aloud as you 
never yet shouted in battle victory, 4 The Lord is 
risen ! ’ ” 

Not one refused, Christian and Pagan, Barbarian, 
Scythian, Bond and Free 4 joined in the shout ; the 
slaves and freedmen looking on, the women and 
children belonging to the camp, in the clustering 
military town at the end of the parade, held high 
their wine-cups, and the universal shout of “ The 
Lord is risen ” arose like the roll of thunder echoing 
amongst the everlasting hills. Three times was the 
ringing cry repeated. 


“Christ is IRisen” 


273 


“ I thank you^ my soldiers,” said the general, “ and 
may the words you have spoken be one day the 
faith of every one of you.” Then he drained his 
wine-cup, as did they all. There seemed to be the 
solemnity of a sacrament in the act. 

The legions filed off the ground, and as they 
passed their general each man received a piece of 
money and an invitation to a meal, provided before 
the bands not belonging to the camp departed. 

Euphrosyne in trembling wonder witnessed all 
this. “ What does it mean ? ” she questioned. “ The 
great day of his God : ‘ Christ/ He told me * Jesus 
the Crucified ’ was his God, and He is dead. Is 
this Christ another deity, and has he cast off the 
first, as he has forsaken our Olympian divinities?” 

She was troubled and perplexed ; yet as she con- 
tinued to rest her arms on the casement-sill, the 
same hush, and intuition of something about to 
happen to her, filled her being with strange yet not 
unpleasing perturbation. The great parade-ground 
on which she looked down was still and empty, save 
for the chatter of some groups of women, the play 
of their children, who lingered here and there, and 
the wrangle of a few idle soldiers gathered together 
casting dice. 

Euphrosyne at length grew weary, and a vague 
feeling of disappointment came over her spirit. 
She was about to quit the casement, when the sound 
of singing coming nearer and nearer arrested her 
attention, and she perceived a small band of men 
approaching, headed by Marcus, the loved freedman 
of Aurelius, now an old man but almost as vigorous 
as of yore. They were all soldiers, and bareheaded, 
carrying their helmets in their left hands, and the 

18 


274 


Sbe Stanbs Hlone 


plain emblem of the cross used by the early Chris- 
tians held to their breasts in their right. One of 
the party walked a little in advance, carrying the 
colours — a blood-red even-squared cross on a white 
ground. 

They knelt down upon the ground, and Marcus 
prayed. The apostles had laid their hands upon 
him, he had been filled with the Holy Ghost, and 
was esteemed in the Church as an evangelist. 
Euphrosyne understood the words of the prayer, 
it was true, but not the sense. What could it all 
mean ? she again asked herself. 

She was soon to learn ; her eyes were about to 
be opened, her understanding enlightened. The 
time was come. That second birth, without which 
no child of earth can enter the Kingdom of Heaven, 
was at hand, as real as that other birth in the chamber 
of Lysander’s wife, which had brought her forth a 
living soul encased in its tiny covering of flesh — the 
first and lowest animal plane of humanity’s everlast- 
ing existence. 

In the simplest words of the clearest of all lan- 
guages, Marcus preached : telling the old, old story, 
as we call it, of that glad Gospel, which will be the 
ever new one throughout eternity. 

The evangelist especially dwelt upon the glorious 
resurrection; and at this clearing away of the great 
obstacles against the Godhead of Jesus of Nazareth, 
Euphrosyne heard, received, and believed. 

As she listened she felt at her waist, as if she 
deemed that the precious girdle was there and would 
help her dawning faith. 

“ Ah ! it is gone,” she sighed. “ My guiding star 


“Gbvist is IRisen” 


275 


A still small voice, gentle as the flutter of a leaf in 
the summer breeze, spoke to her inner consciousness. 

“ Grieve not, O woman beloved,” it whispered, 
“ that the star is withdrawn when the sun is about 
to rise upon thee.” 

When the little assembly dispersed, Euphrosyne 
sent for Marcus, and bade him tell her over again the 
wondrous story he had preached to the soldiers. 
“Tell it in my own beloved Greek,” she said, “that 
I too may be a follower of the risen Nazarene.” 

Then, in the power of the Spirit, and with the gift 
of tongues, the evangelist instructed Euphrosyne 
more fully in the doctrines of the life, death, resurrec- 
tion, and ascension of his Lord ; and the blessed 
truths fell upon the longing heart of Euphrosyne 
like showers upon the parched ground. 

When Marcus left her she called her women, and 
bade them dress her entirely in white. “ For,” she 
said, “ it is the day of gladness and triumph of my 
new-found Lord.” 

Then she ordered her litter, and was taken to the 
villa of Aurelius. She entered his presence unan- 
nounced, and thus greeted him, — 

“Aurelius, brother in Christ, I believe in Jesus of 
Nazareth, the Son of God.” 

The tribune clasped his hands, and looked upon 
her as though he saw a vision. 

Marcus, who had followed Euphrosyne, now came 
forward, and after a few words of explanation of the 
sacrament, thus addressed her, “What hindereth, O 
sister, that thou shouldst be baptized ? ” 

The fountain fell clear into a large basin in the 
centre of the hall in which they stood. Euphrosyne 
removed the sandals from her feet, laid aside the 


276 


Sbe Stanbs Hlone 


mantle and upper robe that wrapped her, and in her 
simple Greek vest and tunic stepped into the water. 

“ Thy new name, sister,” faltered Aurelius. 

“ Nay, there needs no new name for this our sister,” 
interposed Marcus. “ The name in which she pleaded 
for her Lord is already written in heaven. Euphro- 
syne,” he continued, filling a vessel with the glistening 
rain of the fountain, and pouring it over her head, 
“ I baptize thee in the name of the Father, and of 
the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.” 

She bowed her head in lowly adoration as the holy 
water, consecrated by the act* fell at her feet into 
the marble pool ; and when she stepped out from it 
Euphrosyne was filled with the Holy Ghost A 
hushed awe came upon these two men, who heard her 
now speak moved by the Spirit. Her form appeared 
to radiate in a light not of earth, and a Divine 
love, the like of which never shone there before, 
beamed in her eyes of matchless beauty and genius ; 
for as she left the font of obedience the desires 
of the flesh fell from her like a dropped garment, 
and Aurelius was to her from henceforth, beloved 
indeed, but only as a brother in Christ. 

When she had ceased declaring her solemn con- 
fession of faith and fellowship, she signed to these 
two to approach. They bent before her. She 
kissed them both upon their foreheads, and lightly 
laid a hand upon each head, as if in blessing, saying, — 

“ Brothers, I salute you thus in the name of the 
discipleship of Jesus, in whom we are now united.” 

Afterwards they broke the bread and drank the 
wine together, as the Lord had commanded ; and 
having thus celebrated the two sacraments which 
Christ had ordained in His Church, Euphrosyne 


“Cbrtst te Ittsen” 277 

left the villa of Aurelius, and returned to the lady 
Marcella’s house. 

As she was leaving, Marcus handed her the 
purple gold-embroidered mantle that she had thrown 
off when entering the baptismal water. She put 
it away. “The gold, the purple, and the silk does 
not fit the disciple of Him who had not where to lay 
His head,” she said. “ Sell it for the poor.” 

She retired to her chamber to rest, but not to sleep. 
The ecstasy of her first Divine love entirely possessed 
her, and all heaven seemed to be opened to her sight. 
At last she had found the Beloved of her soul ; for 
long she now knew that she had sought Him and 
| found Him not. What could she do for that Lord 
who had given and finished all for her ? 

It would not take long to find, as she judged, an 
acceptable service. She would return to the holy city, 
and would take a place lower than that of the lowest 
of the disciples ; she would throw her wealth into 
the common fund ; she would wash the saints* feet ; 
she would be the humble minister of the Church ; 
she would ever remember the words of the Man of 
Sorrows in her dream. 

She fell asleep at last. The angels whispered 
celestial messages to her slumbering senses, and the 
Spirit hovered as a dove over her sleeping head 


CHAPTER XXVI 


THE REFUGE 

S EVEN years had rolled away since the Roman 
galley sank beneath the waters of the Thames ; 
and nearly that period had elapsed from the time 
of Euphrosyne’s conversion. The Roman tribune 
Aurelius still ruled his British province and com- 
manded his legion, and his sister in the faith yet 
remained near the camp at the place we now call 
Hadleigh. 

Euphrosyne’s design of joining the Church at 
Jerusalem was not carried out. For some while her 
health prevented the journey to Judea, and then 
other work in her Master’s service nearer home was 
appointed for her. 

On a bright May morning she was taking the air 
in her litter, escorted — as she always was, according 
to the general’s order, by a picked band of men, with 
a centurion in command — when a movement aside of 
the soldiers, to allow a Druidical procession to pass, 
attracted Euphrosyne’s attention. 

This was a group of young maidens and children, 
accompanied, or rather conducted, by several Druid 
priests and other attendants. 

When they had passed she inquired of the centurion 
who rode by her side who these children and 
maidens were, and where they were going. 

278 


279 


Zbe IRefu^e 

“ They are destined for the sacrifices of the temple, 
in celebration of the full foliage of the oak, noble 
lady,” was the reply. 

“ Sacrifices ! ” repeated Euphrosyne. “ Do you, can 
you mean to say, centurion, that these innocent 
children and tender maidens are to be slain ? ” 

“ Assuredly they are,” answered the soldier care- 
lessly. A cruel way of taking life by no means 
shocked a Roman. “They will be enclosed in 
wicker cages, and burnt alive,” he explained in a 
matter-of-course tone. 

Euphrosyne, a Greek, a woman, and now a 
Christian, was filled with pity and indignation at 
the idea of this brutality. 

“Does the excellent governor Aurelius know of 
and permit this inhumanity?” she inquired. 

“The noble governor, lady, has no more power to pre- 
vent it than I or you. Rome forbids any interference 
with the religion or customs of its foreign subjects.” 

She sighed, and looked at the crowd of captives, 
who had halted a little in advance, and were chaunting 
hymns in praise of the gods of the woods and stars. 
They all wore garlands of oak leaves, and appeared 
stupefied rather than terrified at the shocking fate 
awaiting them. 

After some thought, Euphrosyne asked the 
centurion if the barbarians knew anything of the 
value of money. 

“In some measure, more or less, yes, lady. Not 
long after the great Julius subdued them, they parti- 
ally found it out, and continued its use in a rude 
way after our legions left the island. Now, since our 
return, some of them are getting somewhat covetous 
of its acquisition.” 


28 o 


5b e 5tanbs Hlone 


“ That is well,*’ was Euphrosyne’s only rejoinder. 
The next time she saw Aurelius she said, — 

“ Would it be against the laws of Rome, dear friend, 
if I, with the consent of the Druid priests, purchased 
from them, and adopted myself, the maidens and 
babes appointed for sacrifice ? ” 

“ It would be entirely a matter between yourself 
and the priests, Euphrosyne, and quite independent 
of Rome. But why this question ? ” 

“ Because, Aurelius, as I am free to act in this 
matter, I shall ask of thee a plot of ground within 
the protection of the camp in order to build a house 
upon it to receive the rescued ones I intend to 
purchase of the Druids.” 

A great joy came to Aurelius at these words. 
Euphrosyne would in this case remain near him. 
He loved her still, for he was not one to change ; 
and although he knew that Euphrosyne would no 
more than himself bring dishonour on her Lord, or 
offence to His Church, by a closer union, yet that 
their friendship and companionship in the bonds 
of their common faith would infinitely add to the 
consolation if not to the happiness of his lonely life. 

The love of money quickly follows the know- 
ledge of its value ; and Euphrosyne found little 
difficulty in dealing with the Druid priest of the 
adjacent temple. In truth, he sold what cost him 
nothing ; for the loss of maid and child was easily 
replaced, and the holy oaks were never baulked of 
their sacrifices. 

The building of the refuge house was rapidly 
completed. The Roman soldiers were no modern 
workmen, and neither idled nor scamped ; and a home 
suitable to the requirements of an inhospitable 


Ube IRetuge 


28l 


climate, and yet with many evidences of Greek 
tastes, was erected on a site within the watch-guard 
of the camp. Euphrosyne’s practical good sense 
introduced for the first time the outlet of the smoke 
over the hearth ; instead of driving it through the 
apartments, to find its way through the holes in the 
centre of them. 

When all was finished she gathered the rescued 
maidens and children under her roof, and devoted 
her life to their care and rearing. She learned her- 
self, and then superintended, the ways of her house- 
hold. She spun wool and flax in their midst, and 
helped to make the garments that were woven. 
Mindful of the instincts of barbarian natures, she 
never restricted the liberty of her inmates. The 
doors were unbarred by day, and all were free to 
leave when they pleased. If, as was often the case, 
the runaways returned, they were welcomed as if 
nothing had happened, and, as a matter of course, 
resumed their vacated place. 

The religion of the Druids was not condemned, 
it was ignored ; for Euphrosyne’s plan was to show 
a more excellent way — the creed of love, and the 
imitation of Jesus Christ. 

It was singular that there was so little opposition to 
this scheme ; which in its results was surely if silently 
undermining the British superstition. Doubtless, 
the money thus freely paid blinded the eyes of the 
priests, and the Roman authority so firmly held by 
Aurelius restrained open rebellion in the matter. 

Still, Euphrosyne’s work was not all success. The 
young savages would grow weary of her sway, gentle 
as it was, and hark back in heart if not in person 
to their wild woods and native habits. Nevertheless, 


282 


Sbe Startbs Hlone 


her family was a rapidly increasing one, and the 
house had frequently to be enlarged to meet the 
requirements of shelter and accommodation. 

After the usage of the early Christians, a large 
upper room was set apart for the worship upon the 
first day of the week ; and here the bread was broken, 
and the wine poured, and baptisms administered. 
These assemblages became a rallying centre for the 
Christians of the camp ; and Aurelius and Marcus 
rejoiced at the numbers constantly added to the 
Church. 

Euphrosyne, in the full life of ministering love and 
duty, felt that her mission of service was accepted 
and successful ; and thus Aurelius was content, nay, 
more than content, in retaining the friendship and 
society of his beloved Euphrosyne. 

But continuous smoothness and absence of care 
are not the conditions of human life, and tribulation 
was coming upon these two friends — as it often does 
come — from an unexpected quarter. 


CHAPTER XXVII 


NORCEA’S RETURN 
HE threads of that other life which seven years 



X before had so disastrously crossed those of 
Aurelius and Euphrosyne, were again destined to 
entangle them. After the raid on the Thames, a 
keen search for the Druid's daughter, as the chief 
instigator of the catastrophe, was set on foot. Norcea, 
however, escaped in safety to her father’s priestly 
court at Mona, where it was not judged expedient 
to follow her. There she remained until the Arch- 
druid’s death. This occurred about the period at 
which this history has now arrived, and she im- 
mediately returned to the temple at Hadleigh, where 
she found her uncle at the point of death, and her 
grandmother, although now very old, still retaining 
her faculties and her reputation as a witch. 

It will be remembered that when Norcea stole 
away from her hiding-place in the tribune’s villa 
she had taken the sacred girdle of the Accusation 
with her. She showed it to her grandmother, and 
described, without reserve, what she had witnessed 
and inferred from the interviews between the chief 
captain and the foreign lady. 

The witch examined the girdle closely. “ This 
must be a powerful charm to have so wonderfully 
preserved this Roman woman from drowning,” she 


284 


Sbe Stanbs HI one 


observed. “ Give it to me, daughter, and I will incant 
thy fortune by it, and see if it agrees with the words 
of our oracles.” 

But the relic was dumb. It was a girdle with 
cabalistic signs, nothing more, to the Druid sorceress. 
We cannot accept Scripture, without believing that 
miraculous power has been bestowed upon and by 
inanimate objects, and that virtue has been connected 
with the garments of the saints. The abuse of the 
reverence for relics has arisen from the same error 
which has transferred the symbol into the idol ; 
identifying the gift with the thing to which it is 
temporarily imparted — a gift no more granted in 
perpetuity than is God’s grace to man. He must 
be credulous indeed who believes that the seamless 
coat of the Holy One preserved virtue in its hem 
when it became the raffle of His murderers, or 
that the broken pieces of the brazen serpent 
rendered the venom of the serpent’s tooth harmless 
when Hezekiah broke it in pieces and called it 
Nehushtan. In like manner the sacred girdle of 
the Accusation was but a mere thing of gold and 
parchment in the hands of this profane pagan the 
Druidical witch. 

With the death of her father, the power and in- 
fluence of Norcea ceased to be of public importance. 
She only retained that of her personal character, and 
this, to her chagrin, she discovered was quite a different 
matter ; and to add to her disappointment, her uncle, 
the priest in the Hadleigh temple, died a few weeks 
after she had joined him, and another priest was ap- 
pointed whose fiery zeal and ambition was not likely 
to suffer interference, or to endure any rival in his 
priestly authority. 


IFlorcea’s IReturn 


285 


During Norcea’s abode at Mona, absence, lack 
of hope, and change of place and life had weakened 
her passionate, insanely tinctured attachment for the 
Roman chief ; and on her return to his vicinity 
prudence had warned her to keep herself secluded 
in the temple. But finding after a while that she 
was no longer in danger — for the event of the river 
raid had almost been forgotten, the only living wit- 
ness, the lady Euphrosyne, having refused to speak 
on the subject — Norcea began to watch and wander 
around the outskirts of the encampments ; and the 
first time she saw the great captain the old wild 
infatuation of seven years ago came back once more, 
and she again sought aid and advice from her 
grandmother. 

It was not altogether the first absorbing love of 
her youth that now possessed her. She resented 
and brooded over her present insignificance, and the 
question of joint sovereignty with the Roman con- 
queror was probably the stronger factor of the two 
passions of love and ambition ; and when the witch 
repeated the old prophecy, “ The Druid’s daughter 
shall wed the Roman chief, but never win his love,” 
and reported the same silence with respect to the 
question of the kingdom, the sorceress remonstrated 
with her grand-daughter. 

“ Is the mere place and name of this Roman’s wife, 
without love or kingdom, worth the taking, daughter ? ” 

“Give me the name and place, and the love and 
kingdom shall follow,” was the confident answer. 

It was not long before assistance came to her 
desire from an unlooked-for quarter. The new 
presiding priest was infuriated at the wide if secret 
influence which “ the lady of the babes ” (as the Britons 


286 


Sbe Stanbs Hlone 


called her) exercised over his people by her works of 
charity and labours of life and love ; and although 
he could not bring any complaint to the authorities 
that even a word had been spoken against the 
religion of the country, he saw that the better creed 
she taught was slowly but surely undermining the 
ancient faith. 

Priestly in every fibre of his temperament, avaricious 
of power over body and mind as a miser over his 
gold, he incessantly schemed how to destroy, or, if 
that were impossible, to circumvent the ascendency 
this friend of the chief captain was gaining over his 
countrymen. 

In his perplexity he also consulted the witch of the 
woods, and bade her cast her spells and summon her 
spirits, in order to reveal the means by which this 
“ lady of the babes ” could be vanquished. 

“ There is no need to trouble the gods of the oaks 
and stars, priest,” replied the witch in a tone of 
contempt. " The means of destroying this woman’s 
work, if not herself, lies in your own hands.” 

“ How can this be ? ” exclaimed the Druid in- 
credulously. 

“ By making a marriage between the Roman 
general who rules us and the daughter of my son, 
the late Archdruid of Albion.” 

The priest received this proposal with scornfu 
contempt. “ Our conquerors are proud as their gods,” 
he said, “and this man is said to be the proudest 
of his people. He would despise one of our women 
for his wife.” 

“ This is true ; therefore we must compel him. 
This mother of the babes is the secret foe of our 
religion, and she is dearer to the Roman chieftain 


Horcea’0 iReturn 


287 


than the life-blood of his heart. Some obstacle has 
prevented their union, yet in all my long life I have 
never before seen or heard of such constancy and 
self-control in man ; for the love he bears this woman 
is such, that all others are to him as though they 
existed not.” 

“Then by thy own showing, witch, there is no 
chance for thy scheme,” replied the Druid gloomily. 

“ Priest,” she retorted, “ the subtlety of the adder 
compasses what the strength of the wolf fails to 
obtain ; and the craft of the woman devises ways 
which never enter the brain of man. If I deliver 
this woman into thy power, wilt thou afterwards 
follow my counsel in this matter?” 

“ I swear by the god of the mistletoe that I will 
do so,” was the Druid’s answer. 

The witch then sought her grand-daughter and 
desired her to bring the charm belonging to the 
Roman lady. This she caused to be copied in a rude 
but in a sufficiently similar manner to be recognised 
by any one who had seen the original. She then 
stained the face, neck, and arms of Norcea with the 
lighter shade of woad, used by the British women, 
dressed her in the long blue garment worn by them, 
knotted up her thick black hair, and wound around 
her head a blue scarf, gipsy fashion, adroitly conceal- 
ing her face, except the nose, eyes, and mouth ; and 
when the disguise was complete, she gave her grand- 
daughter certain instructions, and sent her away. 

It was a charming night in June ; and even in 
the harsh clime of Britain the southern temperament 
of Euphrosyne revelled in the clear light and soft 
air as she sat at her open casement, reading one of 
the earliest Gospels written by St. Matthew. All 


288 


Sbe Stanbs Blone 


was quiet in the Orphanage. Every one but herself 
was at rest in their beds. This was the time of 
Euphrosyne’s recreation ; the only period of the day 
in which she enjoyed the leisure of solitude. She 
felt quite secure. The measured tread of the Roman 
watch, the clank of arms as they moved, and an 
echo of low passwords given and exchanged, alone 
broke the stillness of the night. 

So absorbed was she in her reading, she did not 
notice a head that was raised above the casement 
sill, until the form belonging to it leapt lightly into 
the chamber of the startled student. 

“Roman lady,” whispered Norcea in her thick 
guttural tones, “ I am sent to thee from the Druids 
with welcome tidings.” 

All tongues were familiar to this new-born daugh- 
ter of the Spirit, and she answered in the Celtic 
language ; but so altered was it by her sweet, clear 
voice and high-bred intonation, that Norcea, quick 
to note the difference, gnashed her teeth with envy. 

“ All the daughters of Albion are welcome here, 
whatever the tidings they may bring,” was Euphro- 
syne’s reply. “Tell me thy message; but first say 
how thou hast eluded the guards who surround this 
house. I heard no challenge ; and women are not 
allowed around the camp after nightfall.” 

“Does the fledgling answer the hawk when on 
the swoop, lady? Does it not rather hide itself 
under the forest leaves ? How I came is my secret ; 
what I have to tell thee is thine.” 

“ Speak thy errand, then, daughter of Albion.” 

“ Didst thou not in past years lose a girdle from 
thy waist, O Roman lady ? I am sent to tell thee 
that it is found.” 


IRorcea’s IReturn 


289 


Euphrosyne rose from her seat in the excitement 
of her joy. How greatly had she longed for the 
repossession of this relic of her Lord! With what 
reluctant despair had she given up all hope of its 
restitution none but herself knew. 

“Where is it?” she cried. “ Hast thou brought it 
with thee, maiden ? Name thy reward. I will give 
what thou requirest for it.” 

“ Nay, lady,” said Norcea ; “it is not mine to bring. 
It is in the temple of our religion, and the holy Druid 
says it is a sacred thing, and he dares not deliver it 
into any hands save into those of its owner. I am 
but the messenger. Thou must come and receive 
it in person.” 

Euphrosyne hesitated. “ How am I to be sure thou 
speakest the truth ? ” she asked. 

“ By looking upon this its double, Roman lady.” 
Norcea drew from a pouch the rough facsimile of 
the girdle the witch had prepared, with a tolerably 
correct copy of the polyglot letters. 

Uncouth as the imitation was — for writing as well as 
reading was unfamiliar to the Druids — Euphrosyne 
could not mistake the semblance, and a yearning 
filled her soul to clasp once more this blessed token 
to her heart. 

“ I will come to the temple to-morrow,” she said. 
“ With a Roman guard,” she prudently thought. 

“It will be too late. To-morrow there will be a 
thanksgiving sacrifice of fire for the holy apples of 
the oaks ; and if the girdle is not claimed to-night 
it will be thrown upon the flames as an offering to 
the wood god.” 

“ Then I will call the watch to accompany us. It is 
not seemly for two women to go forth alone at night.” 

19 


290 


5be Stanbs Hlone 


“ I salute thee in parting, Roman lady,” said 
Norcea, making for the casement “No foreign 
soldier must enter our temples ; it is pollution. To 
thee only is in this instance the permission given, and 
with this permit the safety of the girdle is promised.” 

In her intense eagerness to obtain her treasure, 
and still more intense fear of its being destroyed, 
Euphrosyne cast all caution aside. “ I will go with 
thee,” she said ; and she wrapped a mantle over her 
head and shoulders, not for protection, but for con- 
cealment of identity. Norcea had approached the 
Orphanage with the craft and stealth of a wild Indian ; 
but there was no need of secrecy now. Every 
morning Aurelius sent under sealed cover the pass- 
word of the day to Euphrosyne ; so in obedience 
to the answered challenge, the two women passed the 
watch unmolested, and arrived without misadventure 
at the enormous circle of upright stones which stood 
in majestic guard around the space within which the 
inner temple stood. 

Norcea had bidden her companion stay awhile 
within the circle, whilst she went to apprise the 
priest of her arrival ; and Euphrosyne regarded with 
wondering awe the giant grandeur and stupendous 
simplicity of these erections, compared to which the 
obelisks and pillars of Thebes were but pigmies, the 
pyramids and sphinxes mean and artificial. There 
was neither masonry nor architecture here. Each 
majestic stone stood single, unbroken, unhewn ; and 
how it came to be severed from the quarry, how 
conveyed and set up in its place, no modern method 
or theory has explained to us. 

Whence sprang this mingled faith, of which less 
knowledge has reached our age than of any other 







•ft*. 9. J 

# J 



| B i 







| -i & 



DRUID RUINS 






































■fl , 















& $ v'' : 















- 

. ■ 

















Horcea’s IRetucn 


291 


religion of the past ? How did it derive its Mexican 
rites of human sacrifices, its Eastern star worship, 
its Pagan adoration for the gods of forest and of 
flood, its hidden mysteries and despotic power? 

Its origin has perished with its downfall. It has 
passed away into the limbo of forgotten things. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


THE WRITING OF DIVORCEMENT 

TT was only for a few minutes Norcea had left the 
X lady Euphrosyne, and when she came back 
she desired the latter to follow her into the inner 
temple, whence a low sound of monotonous chaunting 
fell upon her ear ; and she had scarcely passed 
through the gigantic portal ere a procession of boys, 
youths, and priests, headed by the chief Druid, 
met her. They were all clothed in white. The 
robes of the high priest were embroidered in blue, 
and oak apples were folded amidst the fillet that 
bound his head. His long hair was white as silver, 
and a snow-white beard flowed below his belt. He 
bore in his hand the precious girdle of the Accusa- 
tion. He addressed Euphrosyne with a deference 
born of the assumption of the priest and the hate 
of the patriot. 

“ Most excellent lady,” he said, “ I restore to thee 
an ornament which by accident has fallen into my 
possession,” and he handed her the girdle with a 
profound reverence. 

Euphrosyne accepted it with her accustomed grace 
and courtesy. 

“ Thou hast rendered me a great service, Druid, 
by returning this treasure,” she answered. “ Wilt thou 


Dfoe Writing o t Divorcement 293 

add further to the favour by saying how I can return 
thee a tribute worthy of its restoration ? ” 

“ I ask nothing, lady, save that thou wilt remain 
in our temple until the morrow, when doubtless thy 
ransom will be paid by the great Roman general.” 

“ Ransom ! ” repeated the astonished Euphrosyne. 
“ Does that mean that I am thy prisoner, Druid ? ” 

“ If it pleases thee, lady, to call it so,” he 
answered. “There can be no fear that the price 
asked will be readily paid and thyself freed. In 
the meanwhile I will commit thee, in all honour 
to the care of the women of our people.” 

There was no choice but to submit. Half a dozen 
British women came forward, and conducted Eu- 
phrosyne to a clean and tolerably habitable chamber, 
and spread food before her, of which, it is needless 
to say, she had no inclination to partake. When 
they left, she lay down upon a rude but not un- 
comfortable bed of leaves and skins, and, committing 
herself to the love and guidance of her Lord, she 
fell asleep. 

She was not greatly concerned at the situation. 
She had often had experience of the cupidity of 
the Druids, and judged they thought this opportunity 
of extorting money too tempting to be resisted. 
The obstacle of lack of gold had never troubled 
Euphrosyne’s life, and she knew that no sum likely 
to be demanded would be too high for Aurelius to 
give or for her to repay. 

It was not yet, by our reckoning, five o’clock the 
next morning, when a messenger from the Druid of 
the temple came to the camp, and begged admittance 
to the general at once, on business which brooked 
no delay. He was immediately conducted to the 


294 


Sbe Stanbs Blorte 


apartment where Aurelius was busy with despatches 
to be forwarded to headquarters, and was desired to 
state his errand. 

“ The noble ‘ lady of the babes ’ is a prisoner in the 
temple of the holy Druids, great Roman,” explained 
the messenger ; “ and unless ransomed before noon 
this day will be slain upon the high stone of sacrifice, 
in honour of the sacred apples of the oaks. So our 
holy priest bids me declare to thee.” 

No change, except an exceeding pallor, came over 
Aurelius as he heard these evil tidings ; but it was 
in a calm, cold voice he said, — 

“Name the sum of the ramsom ! ” 

“ The holy Druid demands not thy silver or thy 
gold, great captain. He only asks that thou shouldest 
consent to wed Norcea, the daughter of the late 
Archdruid of Albion. That, O Roman, is the sole 
price of the noble lady’s ransom and life ! ” 

At a signal from the general, two soldiers of the 
guard entered. 

“ Bind and keep strict watch over this man,” was 
the order to the one ; and to the second a direction 
was given to summon immediately the head centurion 
of the legion. 

“ Stay, Roman,” cried the messenger as he was 
led away, “ and listen when I tell thee that the first 
man of thy nation who steps within the sacred circle 
of the holy stones will be the sign of the death- 
blow of the ‘ lady of the babes.’ ” 

But Aurelius, if he heard heeded not. In an 
incredibly short time the bands were assembled, and 
marched upon the temple. As they neared the 
immense enclosure, a cry rose from the ranks, and 
the general, raising his eyes at the sound, saw 


Ubc Mrittna of Divorcement 295 

two figures, a man and a woman, standing clearly 
defined upon the stone of sacrifice, which was 
raised, some forty feet from the ground, upon two 
enormous perpendicular stone supports. All recog- 
nised in these two the Druid priest and the lady 
Euphrosyne. 

Both were clothed in white : he in full sacerdotal 
robes ; she in the stola of the married Roman lady, 
with the treasured girdle round her waist. Her hair, 
loosened for the sacrifice, fell in waving luxuriance 
over her shoulders. Her eyes were fixed — not on 
the Roman bands, hastening to her rescue, nor on 
the priestly assassin and his weapon, but upward 
in faith and love to the Lord of life,, who held hers 
in the hollow of His hand. 

“ Roman ! ” cried the Druid, in a voice that rang 
like a trumpet over the ground below, “ advance one 
more step, and this woman dies. Accept Norcea 
of Mona for thy wife, and she by my side shall live 
and be free ! ” 

“ Stay thy hand, priest,” answered Aurelius, in a 
tone as clear and far-reaching as the Druid’s, “ and I 
will wed the woman thou hast named.” 

The priest sheathed the weapon in his belt, and 
descended the steps cut out in the upright stones ; 
and at his bidding Euphrosyne followed. 

A procession was quickly formed of the priests 
and followers of the temple. Norcea, who had been 
carefully attired by her grandmother in the most 
becoming garb she could devise, now took her place 
on the right side of the priestly Druid, and Euphro- 
syne was assigned to the left ; thus marshalled, the 
train went forward to meet the Roman general and 
his army. 


296 


Sbe Stanfcs Blone 


It was a high tribute to Aurelius that, at the sole 
security of his word, the priests and people trusted 
themselves so entirely to their invaders, and went 
forth unarmed, save for the sacrificial knife in the 
priest’s belt. 

It was strange that, now her longing desires of 
love and ambition were about to be fulfilled, Norcea 
was trembling with some feeling that seemed akin 
to fear, and as she advanced she never once raised 
her eyes towards those of her future husband. 

When the two parties met, the Druid spoke. 

“ Behold thy countrywoman, Roman ; and also 
my own, who is the price of the ransom thou hast 
pledged for the ‘lady of the babes.’” 

Aurelius, pale and stern, gave one quick glance 
of despair at Euphrosyne, and then said firmly, 
“ I accept, and will redeem my pledge.” 

“ Accept her then publicly in the sight of her 
people, Roman, and in accordance with their customs ; 
and promise that before another day hath passed 
she is bound to thee by the rites of thine own.” 

Aurelius bowed his head for assent. 

“Take her hand in thine,” proceeded the Druid, 
“and place her by thy side, whilst the maidens of 
Albion set a crown of oak leaves on her head befitting 
the brow of the daughter of our once great arch- 
priest ; and then let the marriage hymns of the 
espousal be chaunted.” 

Aurelius stretched forth his hand, and mechanically 
took the timidly offered one of his enforced bride ; 
but he did not once look upon her face, nor she on 
his. Indeed, her whole attitude was expressive of a 
singular humility. 

“ Thou hast taken a chaste and priestly wife, O 


Ube Writing ot Enforcement 


297 


Roman,” said the Druid ; “ and now naught remains 
but to obey thine own laws, and complete this 
marriage.” 

Again Aurelius bowed his head, and gave a few 
low words of command ; in obedience to which 
the bands turned round towards the camp in the 
order they had advanced, Aurelius remaining in the 
Druidical procession, with Norcea and Euphrosyne 
still on each side of the chief priest. 

Arrived at the general’s villa, Norcea was, at a 
signal from Aurelius, lifted over the threshold of 
the principal entrance, since it was considered an ill 
omen for the bride to touch it with her feet. Then 
a distaff and spindle were placed in her hands, and 
she was presented with the keys of the household, 
in token that its absolute management was committed 
to her authority. The legal formalities were immedi- 
ately gone through, and afterwards invitations were 
given for the supper which would complete the 
ceremonies ; for the general did not choose that this 
forced and heathen bridal should be celebrated with 
any Christian rites, but only with the usual Pagan 
forms. 

The marriage supper was partaken of and over, 
and at the announcement that the Roman chief and 
Druid’s daughter were now man and wife the guests 
dispersed ; and then the news was whispered in the 
camp that the bridegroom this same hour had 
departed with a chosen centurion and band, none 
knew whither. 

The rumour was true. Aurelius, in deep anger, 
was travelling in hot haste to London, the head- 
quarters of Rome’s civil government, to obtain a 
writing of divorcement against this unloved wife, 


Sbe Stanbs alone 


298 

so treacherously forced upon him. He had kept 
his word and married her. He had given no word 
that he would not put her away. 

The deserted bride raged in secret. She sought 
her grandmother’s aid ; but the witch gave her poor 
comfort. The oracles had fulfilled their prediction : 
she was the Roman’s wife. They had never promised 
his love, and had no power to procure it. 

Hints of the true cause of the general’s departure 
came out, and the lady Marcella, Euphrosyne's chief 
friend, brought her the tidings. This lady was in- 
trusted with a letter from Euphrosyne to the general, 
which she promised should be delivered immediately 
upon his return. 

Within the week Aurelius returned. Casting her 
pride behind her, Norcea went forth to meet him at 
the portal. He did not look at her ; yet assuredly he 
was aware of her presence, for he bowed low with 
cold respect as he passed on his way to his own 
apartments, whither the rejected bride dared not 
follow him. 

Euphrosyne’s oillet was at once given to him. He 
read it, ordered food to be prepared, went to his 
bath, put on a change of dress, ate and drank, and 
for the first time in his life went reluctantly into 
Euphrosyne’s presence. Perchance he divined what 
that pure, just soul would say when he told her what 
he had done, and what he purposed to do. 

He knew he was dealing wrongfully ; he feared 
that the thing he was committing displeased the Lord. 
He had gone on his own way, urged by his own 
wilful wrath and his wounded heart and pride. He 
had neither sought direction nor brooked advice. 

It was the dark hour of Aurelius’ fall, and of the 


XTbe Mriting of divorcement a 99 

triumph of the tempter. There was a cloud between 
him and his God, and he feared Euphrosyne’s dis- 
approval more than he feared that of his Lord. 

Grace is not granted on lease. Like the manna of 
the desert, it is not only given, but has to be gathered 
daily. If neglected, it melts with the morning sun, if 
kept it breeds corruption. Aurelius had not sought 
help, so he was left to himself, and fell. 

It is a fine standard, that of perfection, which the 
worldling sets up for the Christian ; but it is a very 
false one. When he trips and stumbles, the cry goes 
forth, “ The man is a hypocrite, and his religion a myth. 
See how different is his profession and his practice ! ” 
The world forgets — more likely does not know — that 
when God puts a new nature into a man He does not 
take away the old one. They are left to fight out 
the conflict, until death do them part. The only 
difference is that the Christian rises again from the 
mire of sin ; whilst the nominal one, or the unbeliever, 
continues to lie in its slough, j 

Euphrosyne welcomed her friend with her usual 
warmth and kindness, to which was now added her 
gratitude. 

“ How can I find words to thank thee, dear Aurelius, 
for the sacrifice thou hast made to save my life?” 
she said. 

“No sacrifice can equal the value of thy life, 
Euphrosyne,” he answered, in a low, gloomy, yet 
passionate tone. 

There was a short pause between the two after this 
speech. Then Aurelius added, — 

“ There is, after all, but little of sacrifice on my part, 
dear Euphrosyne, still less any need for gratitude on 
thine. My odious compact is at an end. See here,” 


300 


Sbe Stanbs Hlone 


he exclaimed, holding a parchment towards her, 
“ this is my writing of divorcement with the Druid’s 
daughter.” 

Euphrosyne took the roll without a word, and 
when she had looked through it, there was such an 
expression in her marvellous eyes that Aurelius 
quailed before her glance, and stood speechless and 
ashamed before her. 

“ Brother,” she inquired solemnly, in her rich, 
sweet voice, “hast thou asked counsel of the Lord 
in this matter?” 

He still dared not meet her look, and for the 
moment he could not speak. When he did so it was 
to evade her question by the assertion, — 

“ This is my right by the laws of Rome.” 

“Perish the laws of Rome,” cried Euphrosyne 
indignantly, “ when they are contrary to the laws of 
Jesus of Nazareth!” 

“ The laws of Jesus?” stammered Aurelius; “I — I — 
do not understand, I ” 

“ See here,” she said, drawing a copy of a Gospel 
from her robe. “ Here is another document to meet 
thy writing of divorcement. Read, Aurelius,” turning 
the pages, and then pointing with a finger to a 
passage where our Lord forbids a man to divorce 
his wife, save for the one cause of unfaithfulness. 
“ Aurelius,” she added, “ that cause thy new wife has 
not, and, I will venture to say, will not give thee. 
Read. Hast thou never heard, or hast thou forgotten, 
these His words ? ” 

Aurelius complied, and, honest to the core, scorned 
to excuse himself. 

“ I have heard, and I have not forgotten these 
words,” he answered ; “ but in the sore temptation 


XTbe Mrtting of divorcement 301 

which hath beset me I put them from me. Thou 
didst ask if I sought counsel of the Lord. I have 
not. I have sinned. Give me the writing of divorce- 
ment, Euphrosyne, and may the Lord forgive the 
iniquity of His servant.” 

He took the roll from her hand, and carried it to 
the lighted brazier, which even in the height of 
summer burnt in Euphrosyne’s apartment. He 
thrust it amongst the blazing logs, held the roll down 
with a pair of pliers at hand, until nothing remained 
of the parchment save a shrivelled scroll of ashes. 
Then he resumed his seat opposite Euphrosyne. 

“ Thou seest, sister beloved,” he resumed, “ that this 
sacrifice costs me little or nothing. Thou canst never 
be my wife, and no other woman in the world can 
be ought but my titular one.” 

“ Hast thou then offered to thy God that which 
costs thee nothing, thou disciple of Jesus?” said 
Euphrosyne severely. 

Aurelius rose from his seat, his stately martial 
presence drawn up to its full height, his eye of 
masterful command meeting without flinching the 
accusing glance of Euphrosyne, as he asked, — 

“ What meanest thou by this question, sister ? ” 

“ I mean that if a soldier of Caesar must be true to 
his honour, ought not a disciple of Jesus to abide 
by his word ? ” 

“ His word ? ” repeated Aurelius, a slight shudder 
passing through his frame. 

“ Yes, his word. Thou hast taken this daughter 
of Albion to be thy wife in the sight of God and 
man, and in all things thou standest pledged to be 
her husband.” 

“ Oh, Euphrosyne ! Euphrosyne ! ” cried Aurelius, 


302 


Sbe Staubs Elone 


in a voice which seemed to be steeped in tears of 
blood. “ And this from thee ! ” 

“ Yes, from me, brother beloved,” answered Euphro- 
syne. “ From the woman who would once, if she could, 
have tempted thee to choose her before Jesus, and 
thus bring despite upon thy Lord and scandal 
on His infant Church. Yes, the same woman who 
would now atone for that sin by bidding thee honour 
thy Lord and His Church by obeying His commands 
in this case also, and in His name to take to thee 
this wife in reality whom thou hast already taken in 
form.” 

“ I cannot, I cannot,” he groaned. 

“ She loves thee, Aurelius. Is not love a woman’s 
most precious dower ? ” 

“ But I do not, I cannot love her ; and it should 
be the man, not the woman, who first offers love,” he 
remarked gloomily. 

“There was once a noble Roman centurion who 
did not think thus, when the Maid of Athens offered 
him the love she had first felt, when she met him in 
the house of Hyla,” Euphrosyne remonstrated with 
a smile. 

“ That was altogether different. The love of the 
Maid of Athens was an honour of which the highest 
among men might well be proud, and to which few 

would dare aspire ; but this uncouth barbarian ” 

and involuntarily Aurelius made a gesture almost of 
abhorrence. 

“ Hush ! ” whispered Euphrosyne. “ The true love 
of woman is not a jewel to be safely cast aside, whether 
it dwells in the bosom of a polished Greek or in 
that of a rude savage.- In the present case, prize it, 
my friend, for it is a priceless quality in a wife.” 


Zbc Writing of Divorcement 303 

Neither spoke for awhile, and then Aurelius said, — 

“ I will grant this woman all public honour as 
my wife. She shall be endowed with the half of my 
goods ; she shall bear my name, my title, and my 
rank. All I have shall be hers except myself ; that 
I can neither sell nor give to her.” 

Euphrosyne shook her head. 

“ Those were thy terms with Pontius Pilate, Euphro- 
syne.” He spoke low, and placed his hand over 
his eyes. 

“ I was not then a disciple of Jesus,” she answered 
calmly. “ Oh, Aurelius, I would give a thousand 
lives were they mine to give ; I would give all but 
the salvation of my soul, if I could undo those terms. 
Ah, would to God that I had not made and kept 
them with that most miserable man ! ” 

Aurelius gazed upon her with questioning wonder, 
but did not speak. 

“ Sit down here beside me, brother,” she went on, 
“ whilst with bated breath I explain the words I have 
just spoken ; and when thou hast heard my tale, 
judge for thyself if thou doest well to make the same 
terms with thy wife as I made with my husband, the 
Roman procurator. 

He sank into the chair at her side, his eyes riveted 
upon her face, over which was stealing a horror as 
of thick darkness, a terror of the night. In her 
glorious eyes there was a far-away and frozen gleam, 
as if they were beholding something that would be 
retained for ever on their retinas. She shuddered, 
panted for breath, and then, recovering self-possession, 
said, — 

“Thou knowest well, Aurelius, the history of 
Pontius and myself. I have kept nothing from thee 


Sbe Stanbs Hlone 


304 

but what I am now about to relate, or rather hint 
at. The Churches of God will know until the end 
of time that, unable to bear the unutterable burden 
of his ever-increasing remorse, the unhappy Pilate 
perished by his own hand. But of the stupendous 
extent of these sufferings, the Godhead, the evil 
angels, and myself were alone the witnesses. My 
wonder is that any mortal present could have survived 
fie sights and sounds of his last awful night ; still 
more, that any living being could have gone through 
them without annihilation — for truly they were the 
foretaste of the torments of hell. The Iscariot — 
accursed be his name ! — succumbed at once to his 
despair; but for my unhappy husband a longer 
earthly agony was reserved.” 

Euphrosyne ceased speaking. The same unutter- 
able terror again passed over her face, and lingered 
in her eyes. 


CHAPTER XXIX 
GRANTED DESIRES 

A FTER a short and painful silence, Euphrosyne 
again spoke. 

“ This sacred girdle, Aurelius,” she said, touching it, 
“ has not only, in answer to the prayer of the centurion 
of the cross, already saved me from prison, flood, 
and the pagan’s knife, but, as he further supplicated, 
it has done more. It was long to me a conscience, 
pointing to the right and warning me of the wrong. 
It opened my eyes to the iniquities of the worship 
of Isis, and I dared no longer remain her high 
priestess. Then it pricked me to the heart for my 
heartless desertion of my husband ; and hearing that 
he was in exile and poverty in Gaul, I travelled 
through and over that country until I found and 
restored him to prosperity. Then he implored me to 
return to him as his wife, and I refused.” 

“ Who could blame thee ? ” murmured Aurelius. 
“Yet I was to blame, for I resisted the voice 
through this girdle which urged me to return, and — 
I did not tell thee this, my brother — he taunted me 
with thee, and said that I and thou had been so near, 
and yet so far apart in Judea and Galilee, and that 
now nothing but a narrow streak of water divided thee 
in barbarous Albion from myself in Gaul. And then 
all my love, long locked up, came back for thee, and 
I pleaded again as for my life for a divorce ; and he 
305 20 


3°6 


Sbe Stanbs Hlone 


refused, and swore that if I would not be his wife I 
should never be that of another man. This hardened 
my heart against him. I stifled the voice within 
to which I was on the point of yielding, and left 
him. But before I did so, I so far obeyed the holy 
guidance as to tell him that if he needed me in 
sickness or in trouble I would come to him.” 

“ Surely no more could be required of thee,” 
observed Aurelius. 

“ Wait until the end, O friend, and learn that 
perchance my disobedience to the heavenly mandate 
may have cost this man his soul. I felt for the 
Roman Pontius, my brother, the same repulsiou thou 
entertainest for this maiden of Albion ; and I yielded 
to my instinct, and preferred inclination to duty. 

" It was not long before Pilate sent for me. He was 
ill in body — that was nothing — his torments of mind 
had begun. The slaves told me he would suddenly 
fall upon and tear them like a wild beast. They 
would desert in a body, and then large bribes brought 
them back. I persuaded him to accompany me to 
another part of Gaul for change of place and scene. 
It was in vain. The Furies, he declared, were still 
pursuing him.’ 

“ I am not given to fear, Aurelius, and my fearless- 
ness controlled him. He grew calm, almost gentle, 
for awhile ; for, strange to say, he loved me still.” 

“ Strange ! Oh no, Euphrosyne ! The man, who- 
ever he may be, that once loved thee, will never cease 
to love.” 

“ It seems to be so,” she answered with simple 
frankness. “ Love is the only thing I have won 
without trouble, and, save in thy case, beloved friend, 
possessed without valuing— this thing that men call 


(Branteb Besxtes 


30 7 


love. But listen. All went better until one awful 
night, when every living thing of flesh fled from the 
house except myself. 

“ Aurelius, it is not lawful to speak of what I saw 
and heard that night, within that bed-chamber filled 
with the wrath of Heaven, and in possession of the 
spirits of evil. In truth, I could not if I would. He 
did not even then offer me any personal violence ; 
but he barred the door lest I should leave him, and I 
crouched in the farther corner of the room, appalled 
at his cries and reproaches. At last he lay quiet for 
awhile from exhaustion. Suddenly he sat up on his 
couch, and called me by my Roman name, Claudia 
Procula. 

“ I was instantly at his side. 

“ * I am doomed for ever and for ever to unspeak- 
able misery/ he cried ; 4 and thou, cruel, hard woman, 
might have averted my fate, and thou wouldst not/ 

“ ‘Pontius/ I exclaimed, ‘thou art raving. How 
can I avert the wrath of the Eumenides ? How arrest 
the overshadowing of Nemesis? How influence the 
gods ? ’ 

“ ‘ Thou couldst have pleaded for me with the Man 
for whom thou didst plead once with me. He would 
have heard thee / 

“‘The Man/ I repeated. ‘Yes, He was just, and 
good, and innocent. But He is dead, and what 
succour comes from the grave? Pontius, I cannot, 
I could not aid thee/ 

“ He took no notice of my reply, but again re- 
peated, ‘ Behold the Man ! * Then he broke out, ‘ By 
night and by day this awful presence haunts me, and 
the cry is ever in my ear. Who will be the daysman 
to stand between Him and myself in the day of 


3°8 


Sbe Stanbs Ulonc 


His vengeance? Claudia, when I implored thee to 
stay beside me the door of mercy was yet open, and 
there was hope. It is now too late, and at thy door, 
false wife and cruel woman, my ruin lies.’ 

“ ‘ Pontius,’ I cried again, ‘ unsay thy words.’ 

( “ Never will I unsay them,’ he answered bitterly. 
‘ Ask of the spirits round us if I speak truth.’ 

“ Aurelius, I dare not tell thee what followed.” 

Then Euphrosyne paused, shuddered, covered her 
face with her hands, and again silence fell between 
the two. 

“ I will only add,” she went on at last, that Pilate 
on a sudden impulse sprang to the door, unbarred it, 
and cried, ‘ Begone, woman, too madly loved, too 
coldly cruel ! Begone, I say, in time, lest the evil 
spirit within me turn again, and rend thee ! ’ 

“ I fled from the chamber in more than mortal 
terror. Pilate drew the bolts violently behind me. 
Those who ventured back some hours later found me 
waiting for them in a stupid delirium in the portico. 
On forcing the bolted chamber they found only the 
clay remains of the doomed Roman procurator. 

“ Aurelius, my sin in resisting the conscience of my 
sacred girdle is forgiven me, and my salvation in 
Jesus of Nazareth secured. But to my dying day 
the reproach of my unhappy husband will sound in 
my ears, and pierce my soul. By fasting and prayer, 
I have cried to be delivered from this torture ; but 
it is revealed to me that I must carry its cross to 
the end. My brother, I have told thee all this to 
save thee from a similar remorse, to save thee from 
acting towards this thy wife as I acted towards my 
husband, Pontius Pilate.” 

“ The cases are different,” said Aurelius. “ I beseech 


Orantefc Desires 


3°9 


thee, Euphrosyne, lay not this burden, too heavy to 
be borne, upon me.” 

“ The cases are the same,” she returned. “ We 
have both been the subjects of forced marriages, 
repugnant to our very souls. I was wedded to the 
Roman procurator, thou art united to the Druid’s 
daughter ; and having taken these vows a Christian 
is bound to keep them to the letter as well as in 
the spirit.” 

But Aurelius only shook his head. 

“ Brother,” continued Euphrosyne, “ again I ask 
thee, if thou hadst made a vow, however unwillingly, 
to Caesar, before thou hadst known the Lord, wouldst 
thou have only half kept it ? ” 

A red rush of colour came over the soldier’s face ; 
but yet he did not answer. 

“Wouldst thou render to thy God less service 
than to Caesar ? ” she persisted. 

Still Aurelius kept silence. 

Euphrosyne rose up and stood before him. 
“ Brother,” — she spoke solemnly, — “ I charge thee to 
take the woman thou hast wedded so nobly for my 
sake to be thy true wife, as it is meet a disciple of 
the Crucified should do. Thou didst refuse to wed 
myself for His sake, and blessed for ever be that thy 
sacrifice of honour and of love ! Now I enjoin thee, 
also in obedience to Him, to take up thy cross, and 
let this maiden be the consort of thy rights, the 
complement to thy manhood, the mother of thy 
children, and, I trust, the convert to thy faith. 
Brother, I speak to thee in the name of God, and of 
Jesus of Nazareth, whom He hath sent.” 

A few moments, and Aurelius also rose, and 
clasped the hand of Euphrosyne. Their eyes met in 


3 10 


Sbc Stanbs Hlone 


one deep, earnest regard, and Euphrosyne had no 
need of words to tell her that Aurelius had yielded. 

A night of prayer and watch — who can say of 
what wrestling and struggle ? — and on the next day 
the lady Norcea, as she was now called, was presented 
by the tribune to his household and friends as his 
acknowledged wife; and such in all respects she 
now became. 

Fulfilled desires brought forth their usual fruit, 
“ Disappointment” Norcea’s first awakening was by 
the overthrow of her insane ambition of seizing and 
sharing with her husband the kingdom of Britain. 
Taking advantage of her assured position, she 
ventured to propose her design to the general. It 
was some time before he fully understood her wild 
project. When clearly comprehended by him, he 
told her in few but unmistakable words, that if she 
ever again spoke to him, or to any other person, of 
this treacherous plot, he would at once give her over 
to the Roman authority, with the result for herself 
of life-long imprisonment or death. 

After the first novelty of the situation had passed 
away the restraints of civilisation became intolerable 
to the wild young savage. Accustomed to the loose- 
fitting garments of her people, the elaborate dress 
of the Roman lady was grievous to be borne. So 
important was the changing fashion of hair-dressing 
with Roman ladies, that a slave was specially trained 
to attend solely to this intricate department Poor 
Norcea’s coarse, matted locks taxed her attendant’s 
patience and the mistress’s sufferance beyond en- 
during point. The disentangling of the hair by the 
torturing comb, and the discipline of the brush, some- 
times caused the lady Norcea to shriek like a sea- 


Granted HJestres 


311 


gull ; and she would on occasion collect the heavy 
toilet implements, and with them knock down the 
unlucky slave. 

To overlook and arrange her household was as 
far beyond Norcea’s power as to scale the heavens. 
The occupations of spinning and weaving she despised, 
so she spent her time in moody indolence, longing 
to join in a flotilla of coracles, to assist at a wolf- 
hunt, or drive her war chariot over marsh and waste. 

Her habits and manners left much to be desired, 
and her high-bred Roman husband winced under 
them. His intercourse with women had been chiefly 
with the patrician ladies of Rome and those of the 
higher classes in other civilised countries, who were 
quite as polished and refined as ourselves. 

It was the lady Norcea’s demeanour at table that 
chiefly disturbed her lord. True, the Romans, like 
the Greeks, ate with their fingers ; but the rose-water 
and damask were well-used adjuncts at their meals, 
and it is not impossible to eat daintily with fingers, 
as we know it is quite possible to eat coarsely 
with a knife and fork. Norcea preferred feeding 
as if in a coracle or wood-cleared hut. She would 
call for a live fish — a favourite food — bite off its 
head and tail, and either nibble the remainder like 
a mouse, or swallow it like a pike. 

Of all her grievances, the constant presence of 
the slaves of the household was the most abhorrent. 
Notwithstanding much outward servility, she knew 
they ridiculed and contemned her behind her back ; 
so she hated them accordingly, and very freely used 
the power of personal chastisement, which the Roman 
ladies too often inflicted upon their attendants. 

Among her new personal habits and trials, that 


312 


Sbe Stanbs Hlone 


of the bath was the most dreaded. The head of 
the lady Norcea’s slaves and freedwomen — the house- 
keeper, as we should term her — had intimated to 
her mistress the absolute necessity of the bath ; and 
poor Norcea, by no means uncleanly, but whose bath 
had always been in the cold fresh waters of her beloved 
and then unpolluted Thames, hated with mortal hatred 
the hot-water vapours, rollings, rubbings, stretchings, 
and kneadings, which to Roman men and women 
were the highest forms of luxury and enjoyment. 

At last Aurelius felt the conflict with this undis- 
ciplined creature beyond his powers of patience, and 
he appealed for help to his friend Euphrosyne. 
“Wilt thou try to tame this wild barbarian for me? ” 
he pleaded. “The task is beyond the power of 
any man.” 

Euphrosyne readily accepted it. With perfect 
tact, aided by the mesmeric power which influenced 
and drew, as with a lodestone, all with whom she 
came in contact, it was not long before Norcea, 
despite her suspicious jealousy, yielded to her charm, 
and the rough diamond, so unsuitably set, began to 
show signs of polish. 

“ Our ways are not thy ways,” explained Euphro- 
syne. “ I do not say ours are better, but as they 
are those of the husband thou lovest, will it not be 
well to adopt them ? ” 

Norcea was by no means lacking in sense and per- 
ception. She keenly felt her deficiencies, especially 
as compared with the strangely beautiful and gracious 
woman, who bore so patiently with her ignorances 
and surliness, and so gently taught her the ways of 
her own people. 

She tried hard to acquire the Latin tongue, and 


(Branteb IDesires 


313 


practised with fearful toil the tracing of scrawling 
letters upon wax tablets. She curtailed her swinging 
step, softened her loud guttural voice, and endured 
the tortures of the toilet with the fortitude of a 
wounded Amazon. She rarely forgot to wash her 
hands before, during, and after meals, and learnt to 
eat cooked meats with propriety, if not with liking. 
In fact, after a few months, Euphrosyne became 
rather proud of her pupil, and Aurelius looked upon 
her with less disfavour. 

But in one point, and that the most important and 
nearest to the hearts of teacher and husband, there 
was no progress. Norcea set her nature like a flint 
against the religion of Jesus. “A Druid I was born,” 
she said, “a Druid I will live, and a Druid I will 
die.” She hated as well as despised all other creeds. 

All went well for some time, and then a disturbing 
element came into the intercourse of the two women. 
It was on this wise. Euphrosyne was teaching 
Norcea the use of the distaff, and, unperceived by 
either, Aurelius happened to be standing in the 
doorway watching them. Suddenly his wife raised 
her eyes, and perceived that his were fixed in an 
expression of infinitely mournful and tender regard 
upon Euphrosyne. Was he, she thought, comparing 
the grace and skill of the one with the clumsy 
attempts of the other? Nothing of the sort, but 
worse, if she had understood it ; he was not thinking 
of Norcea. 

In a fit of fury the latter flung away the spindle on 
which she was learning, burst into tears, and left the 
room. 

The two who were left looked consciously at one 
another ; but neither spoke, for both by instinct knew 


3*4 


Sbe Stanbs HI one 


the cause of this outbreak — the woman with quick 
divination, the man from a prick of his conscience. 

“ The lady Norcea is taken ill, I fear,” Euphrosyne 
observed at length. “ I will go and find what ails her.” 

From that day Euphrosyne was careful to avoid 
the house of Aurelius when he was within it, and 
she soon, openly at least, regained her former position 
with his wife. 

She took an opportunity to explain more plainly 
what she had before mentioned — that she and 
Aurelius had once been betrothed, but an obstacle 
had arisen which would for ever have prevented their 
marriage, and that the relations between them were 
entirely those of friendship. Norcea appeared satis- 
fied with this explanation, but it was only for a 
time. An incident soon after occurred which again 
aroused her jealousy, and it never afterwards slept. 

The camp at Hadleigh was the chief military 
dep6t of the army of the south-east of Britain, and 
Aurelius was constantly called upon to send or 
accompany detachments to join the main forces. 
About this time a rising in the west caused the 
general himself to be summoned with a large section 
of his troops. 

These, marshalled in bands, headed by their cen- 
turions, were drawn up as we have seen them once 
before on the large parade-ground, and were waiting 
the appearance of their chief, who was delayed by a 
messenger from headquarters. 

During this interval the great doors leading to the 
villa were suddenly flung open, and a British war 
chariot, with great scythe-like knives projecting from 
the wheels, dashed through them, driven by the lady 
Norcea, the tribune’s wife. 


Granted Desires 


315 


The preparations for war had stirred her like the 
war horse, who smelleth the battle from afar. The 
military passion in her blood asserted itself, and all 
the artificial marks of civilisation she had acquired 
were flung aside. She resolved to follow her lord 
to the fight, ay, and take part in it with him on 
equal terms. 

She stood up in the chariot, looking half Amazon, 
half Bacchante. Her long black hair floated behind 
her like a banner as she cut through the air. She 
drove with perfect mastery two fiery little horses, 
scarcely more broken in than herself. A scarlet 
and gold scarf was folded across her bosom from 
the right shoulder under the left arm, arranged 
behind in a long sash. Her bare arms were stained 
with figures in woad. 

Along the wide plain, back again, round the outer 
circuit, in and out among the ranks as if she must 
rake and wound them by her scythes, and yet guiding 
with such skill she never once grazed a man, Norcea 
flew over the ground hither and thither, to the un- 
bounded admiration of the soldiers, which, in their 
perfect discipline, they could only express with their 
eyes. 

Just as she was turning before the great entrance to 
the villa, the tribune, attended by his staff, came forth 
in his chariot, and confronted that of his wife. She 
checked her fiery steeds in a moment, holding them, 
panting and pawing, yet obedient beneath the reins. 

“ I am ready to follow my lord to the battle,” she 
said, giving the Roman military salute of a soldier to 
his officer. 

Aurelius bit his lip until the blood came, and at 
the frown upon his brow his stoutest soldier might 


Sbe Stanbs Bloru 


ji6 

have trembled. He leant over his chariot, and 
whispered rather than spoke, — 

“ Back ! Home, lady ! Wouldst thou witness 
either the rout of thy people or the defeat of thy 
husband? Home at once! It is not for women to 
fight ; nor is it seemly for the wife of their general 
thus to display herself in the presence of his 
soldiers.” 

“ I will not go home ! ” cried the infuriated Norcea, 
and, muttering a Celtic oath, she lashed her horses to 
start forth upon another course. 

“ Stop the chariot,” was the general’s order. In a 
moment hands were laid upon the horses’ bits, forcing 
them back upon their haunches ; and on Norcea’s 
attempting to use whip and reins, both, almost 
ere she knew it, were taken from her hands. 

“ Druid’s daughter,” said Aurelius, who had de- 
scended from his chariot and approached her, 
“ spare us both any further humiliation. Cease this 
unseemly strife between man and woman, husband 
and wife. Return to thy home. I will it so,” he 
added, in a tone she knew that she must obey. 

There had been another spectator of this unfortunate 
scene. Euphrosyne, thinking Aurelius had departed, 
arrived upon the spot just as the general came forth 
in all the splendour and bravery of his armour and re- 
tinue, and once more she thus looked upon him whom 
she had loved with a love passing the love of woman : 
her warrior, the once young, strong, brave man, who 
had loved her as she had loved him ! 

The same and not the same — the soldier of a 
greater Captain than Caesar now. The same and 
not the same — a man worn with the cross currents 
of life, yet triumphant in the hope of a higher on** 


(Brantefc Besires 


317 


She loved him then, she loved him now, only it 
was with a different and a higher love. 

With deep pain she witnessed the contest, and the 
passionate disappointment and mortification of Norcea 
touched her. She came up to Aurelius, and, speaking 
in Greek so as not to be understood, said, — 

“ My friend, why not let her go with thee ? She is 
Roman now, and thy country is hers. She is woman 
also, and if she may not fight she can tend the 
wounded. Let her go.” 

The same warm, passionate remembrance that had 
affected Euphrosyne had moved Aurelius. He could 
not refuse her, ask what she might. 

“Lady Norcea,” he said coldly, turning to her, 
“ the lady Euphrosyne hath interceded for thee. 
At her request I consent to thy following the army, 
if accompanied by three, at least, of thy women, 
and attended by a guard befitting thy rank.” Then 
he turned away. 

If Norcea had been angered before, she was en- 
raged now. She, the Roman chiefs wife, to owe 
favour and permission to another woman ! It was 
intolerable. She leapt in fury from her chariot, and, 
following Aurelius, called out to him in a confused 
medley of dog Latin, — 

“ Dost thou think, Roman, I will accept aught at 
thy hands through her} No ! Go to thy wars alone, 
and the gods of the oaks and stars send disaster 
after thee ! ” Then she strode away. 

“ Ah,” thought Euphrosyne, “ I would that 
Aurelius had not mentioned my name ! It was a 
man’s mistake, and mine, alack ! a woman’s, for inter- 
fering, even in the cause of peace, between husband 
and wife. 


CHAPTER XXX 


THE LAST NIGHT AT THE REFUGE 
ROM the date of Norcea’s unfortunate escapade, 



JL she stubbornly refused all communication with 
Euphrosyne, and cherished against her a suspicious 
hatred, that had in it the same touch of insanity that 
underlay all her other impulses of passion and ambi- 
tion. She was now entirely possessed with plans of 
vengeance towards the woman whom, she believed, 
stood between her husband and herself. 

She did not only plan, she acted. From her 
grandmother she procured love philters and charms 
to gain the affection of her lord. With the Druid 
priest she carried on the no difficult task of inflaming 
his zeal for his religion by setting him against the 
proselytising work of the “ lady of the babes.” 

Deeply Euphrosyne regretted this estrangement, 
and, probably more than she herself realised, missed 
the society of Aurelius, whom she judged it prudent 
should cease his visits to her house. She discovered 
that Norcea had set a watch upon each, and gave way 
to fits of anger when she heard of their occurrence. 

But her own affairs began to press with trouble 
upon her, and divided her anxieties and regrets for 
her friend. Active opposition and open hostility was 
now carried on against her from the temple. The 



V 


DRUID PRIEST 










































































Ubc Xast iRiQb t at tbe IRefuge 319 

sale of victims had been refused since the appoint- 
ment of the present priest, and Euphrosyne was 
constantly grieved by the kidnapping of her children 
or the disappearance of her maidens ; for all her 
family, as before mentioned, were free to leave or 
return at will, the Britons being very sensitive to 
any hint of captivity. 

The numbers at the refuge were greatly decreased, 
and although Euphrosyne still counted several hundred 
inmates, yet, at the rate they were now vanishing, 
she saw, if this went on, her house must ultimately 
be emptied. She began to question whether her 
work was not at an end in Albion ; also she 
doubted if her presence did not threaten the peace 
of Aurelius ; and her heart went out longingly to the 
Church at Jerusalem, which, had she followed her own 
wishes, she would have joined at her conversion. 

This desire of her heart was about to be fulfilled ; 
but it was not the earthly Jerusalem she was going 
to enter. 

The severance from Aurelius and the decay of her 
labour of love snapped the last ties of the flesh. 
Suddenly it was revealed to her that the time of 
her departure was at hand, and she began to make 
preparation for the celestial journey. 

A double portion of the Spirit now fell upon this 
woman, beloved of her Lord, and she rapidly moulded 
into as near an imitation of Christ as it was possible 
for a mortal to attain on this side death. As painters 
represent saints with a nimbus, so did it appear as 
though Euphrosyne was irradiated by a Divine light, 
of love, before which her failings and faults vanished 
as darkness falls before the dawn of day. Her un- 
bounded natural pride was replaced by the most 


320 


Sbe Stanbs Blotte 


profound humility. She who, pre-eminent in beauty, 
intellect, and wealth, had been little less than adored 
by all who approached her, counted herself the least 
of all, and servant of all. Her self-esteem, which once 
held the herd of humanity in contempt, had changed 
into esteeming others better than herself; and her 
transports of hot anger when thwarted, injured, or 
witnessing injustice, had softened into a spirit of 
forgiveness and charity which, like the tree cast into 
the bitter waters of Marah, sweetened the fountains 
of evil around her. 

“Surely,” thought her friend the lady Marcella, 
“ Euphrosyne must be about to meet her Lord, for she 
daily more and more resembles Him.” 

The Christians of the Roman camp broke bread 
on the first day of the week in turn at each other’s 
houses, and it was the day of Euphrosyne’s lot to 
receive the guests of this Holy Communion in her 
upper room. These were the only occasions on 
which Aurelius and his beloved friend now met. 
There was a larger assemblage than usual on this 
eve, and a more than common solemnity, even an 
awe, appeared to have fallen upon every one present ; 
yet they could not realise wherefore this should have 
come upon them. 

The intemperance of the Corinthians at the Holy 
Feast had not yet caused the early Church to adopt 
the remedy for this profanation by appointing 
morning administrations, and the Communion in 
Euphrosyne’s upper room was held at the very hour 
at which her Lord had instituted and distributed it 
to His disciples before His passion. The tables were 
only furnished with the appointed bread and wine, 
and at each board an evangelist, upon whom hands 


Ubc Xast IRtgbt at tbe IRefuge 321 


had been laid, presided, and administered the sacred 
rite, in the few simple words Christ Himself had 
spoken. 

Aurelius and Euphrosyne sat side by side, both 
kneeling as the bread and wine were received by 
them. Something within them both intimated that 
they would no more partake of this blessed memorial 
until they drank of the fruit of the vine “ new ” in 
the kingdom of their God. 

There was a Judas also at this feast. Norcea, who 
had discovered that her husband was at Euphrosyne’s 
house, had followed him, and was looking through 
a crevice of the door at the scene. When she saw 
the two side by side, drinking from the same cup, 
partaking of the same broken bread, she believed it 
was a spell or charm by which Euphrosyne secured 
the Roman’s love. In maddened trouble and despair 
she rushed off to the temple, and threw herself at 
the feet of her witch grandmother. 

“ Mother,” she cried, “ the Roman woman hath 
spells stronger than thine.” She then told what she 
had seen in the upper room. 

“ Be comforted, daughter,” replied the witch 
mysteriously. “ This woman shall soon be removed 
from thy sight, and shall no more ensnare thy 
husband. Dry thy tears. Ere many days she shall 
trouble thee no more.” 

The next day the general left the camp on military 
affairs. There was a great deal apparently going 
on in the neighbourhood of the Druid temple ; but 
as the festival of the cutting of the mistletoe was 
now near at hand, no particular notice was taken 
of the excitement. 

Euphrosyne had made no attempt, after the first 

21 


32 2 


Sbe Stanbs Blone 


repulse, to renew friendly relations with the wife of 
Aurelius. Norcea was likely to become a mother, 
and whilst earnestly hoping this new tie might lead 
to a happier state of things between the husband 
and wife, this prospect naturally caused Euphrosyne 
to be the more cautious not to disturb the peace 
of the tribune’s household by any intrusion on 
Norcea. But for this circumstance causing her to 
keep away from the camp, she might have learnt 
the danger she was in ; for the British wives of the 
Roman soldiers brought many whispered tales to 
their husbands of the threatening vengeance of the 
Druids towards the “ lady of the babes.” 

It was a dark, cold November night. In each 
room of the Orphanage generous wood fires blazed, 
shedding on all around the comfort of warmth and 
light. This was the only luxury Euphrosyne allowed 
herselfi It would be self-destruction not to defend 
one’s life by warmth in this harsh clime, she would 
say ; but when Aurelius urged her to have her house 
heated by the hot air with which his own was 
supplied — an art already known to the Romans, 
although not generally used until the reign of Nero — 
Euphrosyne replied the method was too self-indul- 
gent, and would not adopt it. 

Did the Spirit now again reveal to Euphrosyne 
that the time of her departure was nearer than she 
or any others expected, that it was the cause of the 
warm wave of tenderness, mingled with sorrowful 
regret, which flowed over her heart as the young 
maidens brought the little children to bid her good- 
night ? She took each up in her arms, as her Saviour 
had done, and blessed them. Surely the same sym- 
pathetic cord touched these little ones ! They nestled 


Ube Xast IFU^bt at tbe IRefu^e 323 

closely to her bosom, caressed her with their tiny 
hands, and cried when she gently put them down. 
Was there a mutual inner sense that foretold they 
would never meet again, until Euphrosyne appeared 
before her Lord, with these the children He had given 
her? 

None can say, for she never told. After all were 
gone and the doors had closed behind them, Euphro- 
syne sat still and thoughtful before her solitary hearth. 
The past rose up before her in one long, continuous 
stream of memory, or rather in a bright, strong flash, 
as it is said to rise before the sight of the drowning. 

Like a picture with every scene portrayed upon 
the same surface, her life’s story was presented to her 
mental retrospect : the happy Arcadia of her child- 
hood ; the wise men of Athens who tutored her 
youth ; the inspired lecture at the Academy theatre ; 
the excited youth of Greece and Rome, and the 
bowl of hemlock ; the house of Hyla, and her fatal 
personality ; her noble Roman lover, and her cruel 
separation from him ; the forced marriage with the 
haughty procurator of Judea, whose generous pardon 
subdued her to his will ; the sweet, but awful dreams 
sent her — not from Zeus, but from “ the Unknown 
God,” the Jehovah of the Jews, revealing to her 
the great Sacrifice for sin, namely, His Son Jesus 
of Nazareth. 

“ How near I was to believing ! ” she thought ; “ but 
how blind I was ! Yet I was right. Gods do not die ; 
and had mine not risen my faith would be in vain.” 

She did not follow her stormy past farther. “ Let 
the dead bury its dead,” she said ; “ let me only 
dwell upon the glorious future.” She remained 
awhile still and raptured, for the angels of God 


324 5 be Stands Hlone 

were on ministering service above, around, beside 
her. 

At last she roused herself, and taking up a lamp 
proceeded, as she always did, to go over the house, 
ere she retired to her chamber. 

All seemed profoundly quiet. The children lay 
in the exquisite slumber of perfect grace that belongs 
pre-eminently to the very young of the human race. 
There was not a stir from the couches of the maidens. 
Euphrosyne passed noiselessly by, not venturing to 
bend over the sleeping forms, lest she should disturb 
them in their dreamless sleep. 

As she left the last bed-chamber, she was surprised 
at seeing that the door of a passage leading to the 
building where the men lodged was open. This 
door was always kept at night barred on the house 
side. She walked through ; the lodgment was empty 
and the door at the farther end was open. In a 
moment she understood the danger and treachery 
of this desertion. 

These men were employed to do the rough work 
of the house and garden ; they were all Britons, 
half-civilised, and professed Christianity ; indeed, they 
had all been baptized before their admittance into 
Euphrosyne’s service. 

In one man she had especially been interested. 
He was called Gwyllyan. She had nursed him 
through severe fever, and been completely deceived 
by his profession of love to Jesus and gratitude to 
herself, her usual perception failing in this case to 
perceive that he did “ protest too much.” He was, in 
fact, a spy of the Druids, and had corrupted his fellows 

For the first moment or two the conviction of 
this man's treachery grieved her more than the 


Ube Hast IRUjbt at tbe IRetuae 325 

impending danger alarmed her. She knew that a 
cordon of the watch of Roman soldiers always 
surrounded the house, having quick communication 
with the camp. She went out beyond the door, 
looked and listened ; but not a sentry was to be seen 
or heard. Euphrosyne supposed this must arise 
from some relaxation of discipline, caused by the 
absence of the general. She was soon undeceived, 
for, going a little farther, she stumbled over the body 
of a man, and lowering her lamp, she saw it was 
that of a Roman watch, who had been silently slain 
by a British war-club. 

She comprehended the situation now, and without 
a moment’s loss of time fled back to the house, 
securing every door as she passed, and, hastening to 
the flat roof of the building, she set aflame the beacon, 
always kept in readiness for signalling danger to the 
camp. The daughter of the Greek heroes of old was 
not given to womanish fears for herself, but for her 
nurslings she was as fiercely defensive as a lioness 
for her young. As she was lighting the beacon she 
was terrified to see that a larger, wider flame was 
spreading below. The treacherous Gwyllyan had 
secretly prepared heaps of dry wood and leaves, 
moistened with grease and oil, in every corner of 
the interior of the building, and whilst she was going 
her nightly round, he and the men he had suborned 
stole in and set the materials on fire. She ran to 
the dormitories. Alas ! they were already cut off 
by the smoke and flame. 

The rapidity of the destruction was terrific. The 
house was lined with wood, and the well-filled and 
lighted hearths helped the dreadful progress of the 
fiery element, which, like a devouring monster, 


326 Sbe Stanb5 HI one 

seemed to lick up and swallow the materials prepared 
for its maw. 

There was a small side room in which a sick 
infant and two or three invalid children were sleeping. 
This was not yet surrounded by the flame and smoke, 
and Euphrosyne snatched up the baby, and, telling 
the others to cling to her garments, made for the 
front entrance of the house. 

She must have borne a charmed life. The smoke 
oiled away as she approached, the flames played 
round her harmlessly, and she reached the front 
portico unharmed, the baby in her arms, the children 
hanging on her skirts — to find herself confronted by 
a wild, silent mob of shaggy, fierce Britons, brandish- 
ing their knotted clubs and threatening her with 
savage looks and gestures. 

But when they saw the “lady of the babes” shrouded, 
as it were, in smoke and flame, and yet unhurt, 
unsinged, unslain, they fell back ; for the weird 
superstition of their country told them she was a 
witch, and it might be doom to touch one whom the 
ravenous fire saved. 

She might have escaped scatheless from violence as 
from flame, if a cry had not arisen, “ The Romans 
are upon us ! ” Then supernatural fear gave way to 
material alarm. The nearest seized Euphrosyne, 
tore the infant from her arms, the children from her 
robe, threw the innocents back upon the blazing 
pile, and carried off Euphrosyne to their temple. 
When the Roman soldiers reached the burning 
Orphanage, not a living creature was to be seen or 
found upon the place. 


CHAPTER XXXI 


CAESAR, TAKE BACK THY SWORD 
URELIUS was not far off, and the evil tidings 



were at once sent to him. His distress did not 
for an instant delay the preparations for storming 
the temple and rescuing his beloved Euphrosyne. 
He knew she would be safe until the next day, when 
the great ceremony of the cutting of the mistletoe 
took place, after which the human sacrifices were 
offered. It is possible that the intensity of his grief 
and the eager desire at once to effect her deliverance 
caused the general to forget the cunning and guerilla 
strategy of his foes when forming his plan of assault. 

With an impetuous yet splendidly marshalled 
advance, the Romans charged over the green, smooth 
plain that skirted the Druidical circle of stones, 
Aurelius foremost in the attack. The ground gave 
way, and nearly the half of those who composed the 
onslaught fell into a pit some twenty feet deep, 
that extended along the length of the Druid circle. 
With the rapidity of an arrow’s flight, the Britons 
from the temple side slid down the descent, secured 
the person of Aurelius, who seemed to be their only 
living object, and struck down with their clubs every 
other man who attempted to ascend with them. 

Desperately injured, and unable to raise himself, 


328 


£be Stanbs Hlone 


the tribune was delivered over to the care of the wise 
women or doctors, with directions to keep him, if 
possible, alive until the hour of sacrifice. 

In the meanwhile Euphrosyne was taken before 
the Druid priest. At first he treated her courteously ; 
although he came to the point at once, by stating 
that her life and liberty depended upon her declaring, 
in the presence of the public assembly of the sacred 
mistletoe on the morrow, that the religion she had 
taught her rescued maidens and children was false, 
and that of the Druids the only true one. 

“ This thing I will never do, Druid,” replied Euphro- 
syne. “In the presence of thy whole people I shall 
declare the only true faith is that of Jesus, the Son 
of the one Almighty and Holy God.” 

“Take time. Speak not hastily, lady,” said the 
priest persuasively.' “ Remember the alternative : 
acknowledgment of our gods or — the wicker man.” 

The Druid then bowed respectfully to Euphrosyne, 
who was taken back to the apartment which served 
as a well-guarded prison. 

By dawn next day the great festival of the cutting 
of the mistletoe was held in the far depths of the 
woods. It was an imposing assembly, those white- 
clothed priests, crowned with the sacred oak, the 
long train of Druid pupils, aspirants for the priest- 
hood, and the thousands of worshippers for con- 
gregation. Loud and long did the priests and people 
chaunt their triumphant hymns of praise as the 
High Druid returned to the temple bearing aloft the 
sacred emblem. 

Arrived at the stone of sacrifice, the Druid reverently 
deposited the mistletoe on a lower altar. An un- 
usual silence, a silence of expectation, fell upon the 



CUTTING THE SACRED MISTLETOE 
































































































. 






































C&sar, Uafee HBacfe Ub£ Sworb 329 

multitude. The high priest and several inferior ones 
seated themselves upon a circular stone bench not 
far from the mistletoe altar ; the attendants grouped 
behind. In front of them was a large open space, 
skirting which the spectators or worshippers stood 
in a thickly serried semicircle. At the right of the 
sacerdotal bench was the rude wicker hollow figure 
of a man, standing upon a heap of dried osiers 
and wood ready for the burning. A larger figure 
of the same material, placed at some distance, was 
destined to be filled with young maidens and 
children. 

The Druid priest rose, and cried in a loud voice, 
“ Bring forth the Roman sacrifices for the holy 
mistletoe ! ” Then a still deeper silence fell like a 
pall around and upon the breathless thousands, 
waiting within the circle of the mysterious stones. 

A low, monotonous chaunt from unseen singers 
was now heard, and then, with an armed British 
warrior walking on each side of her, Euphrosyne, 
the “ lady of the babes,” entered the inner area, 
where the Druidical conclave sat in priestly judgment. 
She was, as usual, dressed in white, and girdled 
with the sacred relic of the Accusation, her hair, 
unbound, falling on her shoulders, her feet bare, 
and her hands tied together at the wrists. She 
appeared calmly self-possessed, and betrayed no sign 
of fear or anxiety. 

They conducted her to the smaller of the wicker 
figures near the priests and facing the mistletoe altar, 
and almost immediately after this was done the 
tribune Aurelius, perfectly helpless of limb, was borne 
into the area by the Britons, and laid upon the 
ground at the foot of the stone of sacrifice being 


33 ° 


Sbe Stanfcs Hlone 


thus placed in a position to see and hear everything 
that befell his fellow-prisoner. 

The Druid signed for Euphrosyne to be brought 
before him, and then, in a voice so clear and loud it 
filled the great peopled space, he thus addressed her, — 

“ Lady of the Romans, the men of thy nation 
have invaded our country and subdued our people, 
but they have respected our religion. It has been 
thy work, the work of a woman, to attack our faith. 
Thou hast stolen our babes and maidens, under 
pretence of purchase, and hast destroyed their belief 
in the gods of the oaks, which their fathers have 
worshipped for uncounted ages. Canst thou con- 
tradict this ? ” 

“ It is true, Druid,” replied Euphrosyne, in a voice 
as clear as his own, and which her admirable control 
of intonation caused to be heard as far as that of 
the priests, “ that I have, with the willing assent 
of the Druids, and at their own price, purchased 
babes and maidens, in order to save them from thy 
cruel sacrifices. Yea, more, I openly acknowledge 
my chief motive in so doing was that I might teach 
them to love and serve the one great God, Maker 
of all men, and of Jesus Christ His Son, my Lord.” 

“ Hear, O ye Britons ! ” cried the Druid, alarmed 
and enraged at the evidently favourable impression 
the words, fearless bearing, and appearance of 
Euphrosyne were making upon the assembly. “ The 
Roman woman hath condemned herself and con- 
fessed her crime.” He paused, hoping some popular 
burst of indignation might make his course easier 
and plainer. But a sullen silence prevailed ; so he 
proceeded in a more gentle tone, and with a more 
merciful sentence. 


Caesar, TTafce Back Ub£ Swotrb 331 

“ According to our Druid laws, O Britons, this 
woman of our conquerors deserves the flames of the 
wicker man ; yet, as she hath been good to our 
people, and is of noble rank amongst our invaders, 
I counsel that we save her from this merited punish- 
ment, and even restore her to liberty, on condition 
that she swears, by her God Jesus, she will never again 
speak of Him to any Briton, and that she will say 
before ye all that the religion of the Druids is the 
only true one. Speak, lady.” 

“ I will never, whilst speech lasts, cease to speak of 
Jesus,” said Euphrosyne ; “and I will never confess 
the faith of the Druids to be true whilst I know and 
believe it to be a lie. Britons,” she cried, in a voice 
so full and musical it was again heard by all as 
clearly as that in which the priest spoke, “ turn 
ye away from the false gods of the Druids, who 
are no more gods than yonder stones. Listen to 
those who will come after me to show ye the way 
of the true God and everlasting life. Beware how 
ye reject this invitation, lest ye have to flee be- 
yond the mountains from thy country, and another 
race follow ye, who will obey the teaching of Jesus, 
and raise this thine island to be the great ruler of 
the earth.” 

There was a murmur, low but deep, among the 
audience, which the Druid understood but too well, 
and it filled him with uncontrollable rage. The 
Roman invasion, even as early as the Julian occupa- 
tion, had undermined, surely if silently, the religion 
of the Druids. It was a system that could not exist 
side by side with civilisation, and the Romans, 
although they tolerated, contemned and discouraged 
its practices ; so the appeal of Euphrosyne did not 


332 Sbe Stands alone 

fall upon unprepared, nor perhaps upon unwilling 
ears. 

The Druid signed that the captive should be gagged 
if she ventured to speak further, and turning to the 
people cried, — 

“ Be not deluded by the beauty or the lies of this 
woman. She is a witch, and the gods of the oak will 
send dire vengeance upon us, unless they are appeased 
by her sacrifice.” 

Once more he addressed Euphrosyne, once again 
he gave her the chance of escape, for he knew that 
the people did not desire her death. “ Roman lady,” 
he said, in a low tone of assumed sympathy meant 
only for her ear, “ I am most unwilling to cause 
thy death. If thou wilt only say the words — I am 
pledged for thee to my people — I will not ask thee 
to believe, or hereafter to act upon them. The 
words are painless, the death is horrible. Lady, 
reflect, before thou refusest me.” 

“ I will never say them, Druid,” she answered 
calmly. 

“ Wilt thou then die for thy God Jesus?” 

And she returned firmly, — 

“ I will die for Him.” 

The contest was over, and the Druid ordered the 
service of sacrifice should commence. Euphrosyne 
was first to be burnt alone ; then the Roman tribune 
was to be slain with the knife on the stone of sacrifice, 
after the custom of the ancient Aztec slaughter, the 
general holocaust of maidens and infants completing 
the horrid rites. 

Aurelius had remained insensible upon the ground, 
but the preparation for Euphrosyne’s martyrdom 
aroused him. His senses returned, and his eyes were 


Caesar, Uafee Bach XTbs Svvorb 333 

riveted upon the spectacle before him. They took 
Euphrosyne, and placed her bound within the wicker 
frame ; then they set fire to the wood and combustibles 
underneath. Whilst this was in preparation, the 
procession of priests.walked three times round, within 
the great circle of stones, singing songs to the honour 
of the oaks, the sun, moon, and stars, and bearing 
aloft the emblem of the mistletoe upon a high 
pole. 

As they were lighting the fire, a terrific storm of 
hail and wind swept over the ground, accompanied by 
thunder and lightning, a most unusual occurrence 
at this season of the year. This was followed by a 
deluge of rain. There was scant shelter for any one, 
for the small covered temple in the centre of the 
stone circles was not large enough to contain a fourth 
of the assemblage, the principal areas of the Druid 
temples having no roof but the firmament. 

The tempest ceased as suddenly as it had com- 
menced, and the priests explained to the congregation 
that the outraged gods had sent the storm as a mark 
of anger against the Roman witch. 

The Druid now made one last attempt to overcome 
Euphrosyne’s resolution. 

“ I will still give thee thy life, woman,” he said to 
her, “ if thou wilt own the gods of the Druids and 
deny thy own.” 

“ Never, Druid,” was the decided response. 

“ She hath spoken her own doom,” observed the 
priest gloomily. “ Bring fresh and dry fuel, and let 
the pile be sevenfold its usual size, and make the fire 
of its utmost heat.” 

At this moment a frantic, shrieking woman bounded 
into the inner enclosure of the circle and flung 


334 


Sbe Stanbs Bione 


herself on the ground beside Aurelius. Norcea, for 
it was she, had not bargained for this. She had, as 
it were, sold herself to destroy Euphrosyne, and now 
she found the purchase had included the captivity if 
not the death of her adored husband. 

“ My lord ! my master ! ” she sobbed, taking up 
an inert hand of Aurelius, and covering it with kisses 
and caresses, “ I never meant this. I was mad with 
my jealous love of thee. Oh, turn thee and live for 
the sake of the child I am about to bear thee, if not 
for my own ; and I swear that from henceforth thy 
God shall be my God, and I will never again dis- 
obey thee.” 

He did not look at or answer her, possibly he did 
not hear. Then she cried with a long and exceeding 
bitter cry, — 

“ If thou wilt not see or hear me, yet, before I go 
away for ever, O my lord, forgive me ! forgive me ! ” 

It seemed as if Aurelius did hear this appeal, for 
he opened his eyes and slightly turned towards 
Norcea; but he did not speak. 

Then from the form bound to the stake within the 
wicker man came a voice he did hear, and it uttered a 
sentence from that grand epitome of all prayer — that 
word concentration of all mortal needs — “ Forgive us 
our trespasses, as we forgive them who trespass 
against us.” 

This irrevocable condition of the forgiveness of 
human sin, “ to forgive as we hope to be forgiven,” 
roused Aurelius, as the sound of the trumpet would 
have roused him to the battle. The light came to 
his eyes, a temporary vigour to his limbs. He placed 
his other hand over that of Norcea’s which held his 
own, and said in a clear, gentle voice, — 


Caesar, Gafce Bacfc Gb£ Sworb 335 

“ I forgive thee, Druid’s daughter, and may my 
Lord bless and forgive thee also.” 

Then a faint smile and a look full of divine love 
came into his eyes as he raised them to the bound 
martyr. 

A frenzy seized the unhappy Norcea. “ He for- 
gives me, but only for her sake ! ” she shrieked. “ Oh, 
cruel ! cruel ! always for her.” 

“Nay, not — for— her — sake,” gasped the dying 
man. “Not — for — hers — but for His” He drew 
the rude cross-bars of wood which the foe had left 
upon his breast, raised it to his lips, and kissed it 
reverently. 

At a sign from the Druid they carried Norcea by 
force from the enclosure, and again proceeded to 
light the fuel at the feet of Euphrosyne. They 
succeeded in igniting it, but just as the flame kindled 
a sharp pang shot through the heart of their victim. 
They had bound her too tightly. The cords had 
pressed fatally upon her heart, and with one short 
sigh she now yielded up her spirit to the God who 
gave it. 

At the same instant, Aurelius looked up, and by 
the light of approaching death saw (or believed he 
saw) the angel group waiting to receive the soul 
of this woman beloved and conduct it into the 
Paradise of God, to dwell there for ever with Him, 
for whom, when unknown, she had interceded, and 
to enjoy at His right hand pleasures for evermore. 

As this heart-stroke ended Euphrosyne’s mortal 
life, the girdle, perhaps unfastened by the throb, fell 
into the struggling fire, which fiercely blazed up, and 
consumed it so effectually that not a vestige was 
afterwards found of the precious relic by curious 


33 ^ 


Sbe Stanbs Hlone 


Pagan or pious Christian. The flames that had an- 
nihilated it played awhile around the feet and form 
of the martyred Euphrosyne with caressing but 
harmless lancings, and then sank back into darkness 
and ashes. 

The renewal of strength that sometimes comes 
to the dying came to Aurelius immediately after 
Euphrosyne’s departure. He raised himself upon 
his side, and, disentangling the short, sharp sword 
that hung there, broke its blade in two, saying as he 
did so, “ Caesar, take back thy sword ! ” He then 
pressed the rough cross upon his heart, and cried 
aloud, “Jesus, Thy cross alone ! I am Thine only now 
and for ever.” As he ceased speaking these words 
he sank gradually to the earth, and his released soul 
rejoined Euphrosyne. 

And thus it was that when the Druids came to 
cast the bodies of Aurelius and Euphrosyne on the 
flames, they found the prey had escaped their ven- 
geance ; but that was not all, for at that moment 
a loud cry of panic arose from the assemblage, and 
lo ! the Romans were advancing upon the temple, 
and reprisals were close at hand. 


CHAPTER XXXII 


RESTING IN PEACE 



HE Roman tribune had required that a certain 


X extent of unencumbered ground should surround 
the outer stone circle of the Druid temple ; and it 
was underneath this plain the wily Britons had made 
and cunningly covered their excavation. This device 
having succeeded, the great chief captured, and the 
half of his soldiers slain, the native defenders con- 
cluded all was now safe ; so they abandoned the 
guard of the fosse, and joined in the excitement of 
their worship and sacrifices. 

Infuriated at the loss of their commander, and 
ashamed of their repulse, the survivors of the assault 
returned to the camp for reinforcements, and also for 
the materials ever ready to be thrown together to form 
bridges and scaling-ladders ; and they succeeded in 
passing over by these aids without raising any alarm 
among the enemy. So the bands crossed in safety, 
but arrived too late to save either their general or 
the martyred Euphrosyne. 

The enraged Romans showed no mercy, and gave 
no quarter. With only one exception, every man, 
woman, and child found within the precincts of the 
temple were put to death. Soon afterwards the 
greater number of the monstrous stones were, with 


337 


22 


338 


Sbe Stanbs Hlone 


incredible labour and skill, overthrown, and the valley 
in which they had been erected was raised to the 
level of the land around it. 

The bodies of Aurelius and Euphrosyne were at 
once rescued, and committed to the care of the 
Christians of the camp. 

Once again the legions gathered on the great 
parade-ground outside the villa of their late tribune ; 
again they appeared to wait in anticipation of some 
coming event At last the great doors were slowly 
opened, and a group of mourning men and women 
came forth, following a double bier, on which, side 
by side, lay the mortal remains of the brave Roman 
soldier and the once peerless Maid of Athens. He 
was dressed in the full armour of his profession and 
rank. Death had not yet placed its effacing finger 
of decay upon him. He still looked in his grand 
prime ; and she, as she lay clothed in her white robes, 
her head resting upon his breast, looked even more 
beautiful in death than in life. 

Through the hushed ranks the silent procession 
slowly marched. A deep sorrow was on every face, 
a military salute was raised by every hand as the 
funeral cortege passed by. The bearers were picked 
men from the band of which Aurelius continued 
titular centurion, and before the bier a banner with 
a blood-red cross on a white ground was borne. 

As the procession came on, solitary soldiers stepped 
unchecked from the ranks and fell behind. These 
were the Christian soldiers of the army. 

When the parade-ground was past, and the bands 
had looked their last on the loved and lost, the 
Christian banner of shame and glory was gently 


testing in peace 


339 


laid over the bier. Then bearers and mourners 
proceeded to a green spot on the banks of the river, 
where the grave lay ready for these two, who were 
“ lovely and pleasant in their lives, and in their 
death were not divided.” 

The legion in slow, solemn march followed upon 
the military road along the Thames, and witnessed 
in reverent silence the simple rites of the Christian 
burial : the prayer, the chaunt, the few words of 
exhortation and farewell. For a moment or two the 
banner of the Cross was raised to grant one more 
look upon the beloved dead, then it fell again over 
the bier, which, with its occupants, was lowered into 
its last resting-place. At a given signal a loud blast 
of trumpets sounded from the legion above, who 
then marched back in the order they came, and the 
mourners lingered until the sod had covered the 
grave of their departed ones. 

There, reunited in Christ, repose in peace the 
mortal remains of Aurelius, the man of faith not 
found in Israel, and Euphrosyne, the wife of Pontius 
Pilate. The commerce of the nations passes by 
them, the passenger ships of the earth go to and 
fro close by, and they heed it all as little as they 
are heeded. Deep down in their bridal bed of 
death they will slumber until awakened by the 
trumpet call of the Archangel. 


THE END. 



























































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Philip Winwood. ( 60 th thousand.) A Sketch of 
the Domestic History of an American Captain tn 
the War of Independence, embracing events that 

OCCURRED BETWEEN AND DURING THE YEARS 1763 AND 

1785 in New York and London. Written by his 
Enemy in War, Herbert Russell, Lieutenant in the 
Loyalist Forces. Presented anew by Robert Neilson 
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the King,” etc. 

With six full-page illustrations by E. W. D. Hamilton. 

Library i2mo, cloth decorative, 400 pages . . . $1.50 

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work of fiction which is as wholesome as it is winsome, as fresh and artistic as it is 
interesting and entertaining from first to last paragraph.” — Boston Times. 

Breaking the Shackles. By frank Barrett. 

Author of “ A Set of Rogues.” 

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The Progress of Pauline Kessler. By 

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A novel that will be widely read and much discussed. A power- 
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This is the first book of a new writer, and is exceedingly well 
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Edward Barry: South Sea Pearler. By Louis 

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This is the first complete novel from the pen of Mr. Becke, and 
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Unto the Heights of Simplicity. By jo- 

HANNES REIMERS. 

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We take pleasure in introducing to the reading public a writer of 
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LIST OF NEW FICTION 


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The Black Terror. A Romance of Russia. By John 
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is a young Englishman, whose startling resemblance to the Czar is 
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The Baron’s Sons. By Maurus Jokai. 

Author of “ Black Diamonds,” “ The Green Book,” “ Pretty 
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Slaves of Chance. By ferrier langworthy. 

With five portraits of the heroines, from original drawings by 
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Her Boston Experiences. By Margaret allst©n 

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Memory Street. By Martha Baker Dunn. 

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An exceedingly beautiful story, delineating New England life and 
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Winifred, a Story of the Chalk Cliffs. By S. 
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Author of “ Mehala,” etc. 

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At the Court of the King : Being Romances of 
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Despite the prophecies of some literary experts, the historical 
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many recent successes. We feel justified, consequently, in issuing 
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the Courts of the French Kings. 


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